His Impossible Girl
by SquirrelWho
Summary: She died saving his life before he could even learn her name, but the ring told him he'd see her again. So when a mysterious text brought him to a derelict building he knew who sent it even before he saw her. Who is Rose Tyler and how can their lives be so impossibly intertwined? If his future is her past can he save her or will he be doomed to lose her all over again? (RoseLock)
1. Threats

So, been working at this slowly for a while and I thought I'd post a few chaps just to test out how you all like it. So, here's the thing...the whole Doctor/River thing aside...I have lots to say about that, but...I do like the idea of one person's past being another's future and vice verses. So, this is my attempt at something like that...hopefully without all the plot holes and issues of the aforementioned. Ahem...

Also, I threw in a daughter because of that whole tumblr prompt. So, without further adue...or however that's spelled. :)

* * *

Sherlock arranged the index fingers on the cookie sheet as he waited for the contents in the beaker to boil. Some days it was hard work not smoking, but John and Mary had their own child. He couldn't be that person anymore.

Marie would be celebrating her first birthday in a few weeks. Mary called him earlier asking for his help planning the party. He'd been reluctant. A child's birthday party wasn't really his area, but according to her John didn't have time because he was too busy with work. Sherlock offered to have a talk with John, but she told him that she'd be more inclined to have _his_ help. He couldn't blame her, he really had been better at all the wedding planning than his friend.

His phone chimed from the other room. He glanced at the beaker. Another chime. It still had a few minutes to go so he crossed the room and picked up his phone from the desk. Two messages from a blocked number.

_Turn down Lestrade's case._

_-BLOCKED_

His brow drew together in confusion. Turn down what case? Lestrade hadn't brought him a case in over a week. There was an attached image. He opened it and froze. John tied to a chair, sporting a black eye with today's newspaper in front of him.

Someone was holding John hostage to keep Sherlock from working on a case Lestrade planned on asking him to solve. As if in answer the sound of a siren cut through the night. He glanced out the window as the lights came into view and the siren turned off. He slid his mobile into the pocket of his dressing gown and walked back into the kitchen in time to turn the burner off before the beaker overflowed. He pulled on the gloves and then grabbed the clamps and lifted the beaker as he heard the door open downstairs. Footsteps up the stairs and then he heard Lestrade step into his flat.

"Sherlock," the inspector called.

"In here," he said, carefully pouring the contents of the beaker over the index fingers.

A moment later Lestrade joined him, folder in hand.

"Ah, good. I need your help."

He could hear the desperation in the man's voice.

"I'm afraid I don't have time for anything at the moment, inspector," he dismissed.

"This is serious, Sherlock and this time I don't need you to tell me we have another serial killer on the loose. Three bodies in three days," Lestrade said, brandishing the folder as proof.

"I'm already on a case for Mycroft. I can't spare the time for another one," he replied without looking up.

"But you've got time to do that?"

Lestrade angrily gestured at the experiment he was running.

"This has to do with the case I'm already on," he lied.

"Come on. I'm desperate here. I have to catch this bastard before he strikes again."

He knew Lestrade wasn't going to let this go. The man would keep at him until he agreed and if he didn't agree today the inspector would likely be back tomorrow. He had to stop that from happening.

"I won't even be in town for the next few days," he said as he sat the beaker back.

"Sorry…what?"

"It's this case for Mycroft. I'm not really at liberty to discuss the details."

"Sod Mycroft and his bloody case," Lestrade yelled. "Since when did you put your brother first anyway?"

"I'm not putting Mycroft first, Grant-"

"It's Greg."

Sherlock blinked, having been taken out of the lie he was crafting, but he quickly reworked it.

"You can leave the folder if you like. I'll take a look at it on the plane. If I find anything I'll text you. If something happens send me as many photos as you can, but I can't make any promises."

Greg sighed in frustration. Sherlock had never actually turned down a case, at least not one this important. What the hell ever Mycroft had him on must be important, but that didn't make the inspector any less irritated. Looking over the file wasn't much, but at least it was something.

"Fine," he growled, slamming the file down on the table. "But if you get anything…ANYTHING let me know right away."

Sherlock nodded and a moment later he heard Lestrade's angry steps down the stairs. He knew the inspector was beside himself, but he had to do what the kidnapper wanted…for now. Only whoever it was made one fatal mistake. He took one of the few people Sherlock cared about and the detective would find them.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	2. Family

Don't step on the feels. :)

* * *

Rose put the kettle on after her shower. Unless Sally showed up with a case today would be another slow day, not that she minded too much, but the last three had been the same and she really could do with some running. Going to the gym wasn't the same. It was harder to get the adrenalin pumping without fear of death.

"Ally, you want a cuppa?" she called, but was greeted by silence.

She rolled her eyes, knowing that meant the girl was too busy listening to music and probably reading some quantum physics book to pay attention to something as ordinary as tea. She popped her head through the entryway and grinned. Yep, she was right. Alley was sitting in Sherlock's chair with her legs tucked under her, a book in her lap, listening to music on her phone.

Rose pulled the sonic out of her pocket and aimed it at the girl's phone, then pushed the button.

"Hey," Alley shouted.

"I asked-" she began, but was cut off as arms encircled her from behind.

She laughed as he nuzzled her ear and then kissed her neck.

"Why didn't you wake me? We could've conserved water," he said in that low voice that always made her shiver.

She turned around in his arms, grinning. _That _grin. The one that always drove him round the bend.

"Cheeky," she teased slapping his arm, but he knew she liked it.

"Seriously?" Ally yelled. "Child in room!"

"You're sixteen," he replied without taking his eyes from Rose.

"Exactly. People with a sixteen year old daughter shouldn't do that. It's just weird!"

"It's biology," he said.

"And chemistry," Rose added, making him grin.

"Seriously? Why would you even…that's just…ewww!"

"I think we've become an embarrassment to our daughter," she said, giving him a smile.

He grinned.

"I'm okay with that."

Then he pulled her in for a kiss.

"You realize I'm now scarred for life! It's going to take years of therapy to unsee that."

He finished their kiss and pulled back with a grin.

"I better get our daughter to school before she's further scarred."

Rose's grin turned cheeky, but the kettle boiled before he could pull her in for another kiss. So, instead he turned his attention to their daughter.

"Children who have affectionate parents grow up to have more fulfilling relationships," he replied, walking over to grab his coat and scarf.

"You read that in a book," Alley accused, grabbing her own coat.

"Everyone read that in a book." He shrugged into his coat and then paused with his scarf, eyeing her. "Not forgetting anything are you, Allison?"

She rolled her eyes in that way that always reminded him of Rose.

"No, I've actually got everything."

"Homework?"

"I'm two chapters ahead in physics, chemistry's done, you went over it last night, finished my essay yesterday, history's done, finished that this morning, and my other classes are all labs, not really take home work, at least, they don't think it is."

"And music?"

She glanced over at the sofa where her violin case sat and sighed.

"Fine." She crossed the room and picked it up. "I don't know why you make me play it."

"It's good for you, gives you an outlet."

She rolled her eyes.

"You're quoting mum again."

"Children who are adept at playing-"

"Fathers who live vicariously through their daughters-"

Rose's laugh from the kitchen cut Alley off.

"Two peas in a pod, yeah?" she laughed.

"Don't even joke about that, mum."

At that moment Sherlock's phone chimed. He pulled it out and read the text.

"It's Lestrade. Looks like I'll be busy this morning. You can come, if you want."

"Actually I was going to do a test run with the Vortex Manipulator…unless you need me."

Sherlock's mind froze, just for a moment.

"Are you all right?" Rose continued, making him realize she noticed.

He'd never been able to hide things from her and it had been years since he tried. She always noticed his moods, even from the moment they met, well, the moment she met him for the first time.

"Would you mind if I took the sonic today? I forgot I told Molly I would stop by and help her determine a cause of death. She thinks it was poison, but there isn't enough evidence to determine what was used," he lied, hating that he had to lie to her, but today was the day.

He didn't register her clothes, because he stopped looking at her like that a long time ago, but after she mentioned the Vortex Manipulator that hadn't been working for the past five years, he shifted gears. His mind took in everything she was wearing, all the details. Today was the day he either saved the woman he loved or lost her forever.

She pulled out the sonic and handed it over. His hand closed over hers for a brief moment, but in that moment he relived every time they touched from the first to the last…no, not the last, he couldn't think like that because losing her wasn't an option. Then he slid the sonic into his pocket and tied his scarf.

He opened the door, but she stopped him.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked in that teasing voice that always made him smile.

"Coat, scarf, wallet, Inspector Donovan's ID," he went over the list indicating each item as her grin broadened, "sonic, clothes, shoes…um…" he feigned thinking, "...no I don't believe so."

"Oh, come here you idiot genius," she said grabbing his lapels and pulling him closer, which made him grin.

"Scarred for life!" Alley yelled, stepping out the open door and descending the stairs, but he ignored that.

His arms wove around Rose's waist as she pulled him down, kissing him soundly as she always did when he went on a case without her or right before they ran headlong into danger together. It wasn't goodbye because they didn't say that. Neither one of them could fathom being without the other. It was just in case. After a few minutes they broke apart, but he continued to hold her, gazing into her eyes. The first part of her that had captured him, reminding him of someone he lost, but through them he found so much more. She reached up and he felt her brush something from his cheek and he realized a moment later it was a tear. He'd been holding them back, but somehow one managed to escape.

"I love you, Rose Holmes, more than solving cases and dancing," he said, giving her a smile and hoping she wouldn't question him.

"I love you, Sherlock Holmes, more than time and space," she replied with a grin, but he could see the question in her hazel eyes.

"Dad! School!" Alley called up the stairs, interrupting them.

He released Rose, reluctantly and stepped out the door, closing it behind. Then he paused, pressing his palm against the wood, closing his eyes for a brief moment, praying to time, space, and whatever gods existed that, that wouldn't be the last time he saw the woman he loved. Then he hurried down the stairs.

"Take long enough?" Alley asked, sarcastically. "I'm going to be late now."

He opened the front door.

"You're not going to school today."

"Wait. What? You never let me stay home, unless I'm sick and you always run an analysis or have Uncle John stop by to make sure." She grabbed her dad's arm before they reached the car as fear gripped her stomach. "What's wrong?"

"I don't have time to explain, Allison," he replied in a voice she'd never heard before, but one that filled her with dread. She released him and continued mutely to the car. She climbed in and closed the door. A moment later he started the car and pulled out onto the road. "We have less than forty minutes to change history." She glanced at him feeling the weight of his words. "I need you to do exactly what I say without fail, without question. Can you do that?"

"Yes," she replied in a small voice.

She saw him glance at her out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't comment. Instead the silence hung between them, like a weight, making the air heavy. She forced her fear back. Whatever this was, it was big. Huge. And it was bad, but she would do whatever he asked because, for all her talk and sass he was her father and she trusted him. He always did the right thing, even if everyone couldn't see that both she and her mum could.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	3. Saving Him

And again...watch out for the feels. :)

* * *

Rose tried to shrug off Sherlock's behavior after he left, but she couldn't help feeling like she had when she first met him. That feeling that told her he knew more than she did. There was something, but she knew she couldn't ask. She learned that after her travels with the Doctor. That whole future knowledge thing. She paused. Yes, that's what it was, but what did that mean?

The Vortex Manipulator. She mentioned it and that's when he got that look. She shoved her thoughts aside, knowing she couldn't change things. Even if something went wrong she couldn't alter the past. That might alter her future and their life together and she wouldn't change anything no matter what price she had to pay.

She sat down on the end of the bed and pulled on her socks and her trainers. Then she stood up and headed into the bathroom to do her make-up and then clip her hair up, letting the back fall down. If she was going into battle she could at least look good. She returned to their room and dug through the closet until she found it. The purple jacket she wore to her last apocalyptic battle. She shrugged it on, grinning that it still fit. Then she picked up the Vortex Manipulator.

She'd already chosen a time and a destination. Choosing a date before she arrived in that universe so as not to bump into herself, making sure it wasn't a time and date she'd used before. This wasn't her first flashback into the past. The destination she choose was out of the way. A warehouse that sat abandoned for years. Better inside than out. Less likely to be seen. She punched in the coordinates and the date then pushed the button.

* * *

The serial killer made a mistake sending Sherlock that picture. The broken windows behind John told him it was an abandoned building. He sent the photo out to his homeless network and got a reply with the hour. An abandoned warehouse, usually a safe place to sleep if it rained, but someone had taken up residence a few days ago and he ran anyone out who ventured inside by opening fire on them, which told Sherlock he was armed. He wasn't concerned with that. His only concern was saving his friend and making sure the murderer knew the mistake he made.

He stopped the cab far enough away to not be noticed and paid the cabbie before climbing out. The warehouse was a few blocks off, but it wouldn't take him long to get there. He gripped the gun in his pocket as he hurried down the street.

* * *

John couldn't deny he was worried. He hoped Sherlock wouldn't tell Mary. The last thing he needed was for her to put herself in danger to find him and with her past, not that he knew much about it, but he knew enough to worry that she would try to find him.

He knew Marie would be all right, even if he didn't make it out of there because she would have both of them. He felt a tear slide down his cheek as he thought about her upcoming birthday and the very real possibility that he wouldn't be there.

A noise drew his attention and he turned his head. His kidnapper stepped into the large storage room he was being kept in. The chair purposely stationed in the center of the room for better light when the pictures were taken. There had only been one so far, but he'd been told there would be others. One a day to keep Sherlock in his place. He chose not to point out that that was something Mycroft had been trying to do for years and had thus far failed.

He heard the distinct sound of a gun being cocked. He glanced at the bloke who was now concealed in the shadows as another sound reached him. Footsteps from the hall across from him. He turned in that direction wondering if it was another homeless person, but he caught a familiar outline.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, knowing his friend couldn't see the kidnapper from his vantage point.

* * *

The familiar sensation passed and Rose found herself in a small room. She glanced around at the broken window, remnants of a desk, and debris littering the floor. She was alone. So far so good. Maybe she read too much into Sherlock's behavior. Maybe there was another reason. She typed in the location and date, setting the time for ten minutes later, but before she pushed the button John's voice reached her.

"Sherlock!" her friend shouted.

Her entire body sprang into action. She'd only heard that much fear in John's voice a few times and it told her whatever was about to happen was life or death. Sherlock's life or death and the latter was never going to happen, not if she could help it.

She raced into the hall, turning toward the direction she knew his voice came from. Sherlock was standing at the end of the hall. He must have heard her because he turned back, but at that moment a gunshot rang through the warehouse. _No! God, no! _

She reached him a moment later. She pushed him out of the way. The bullet struck her in the chest. She heard another gunshot as she fell. Someone yelled. A man, but she didn't recognize his voice. In the next moment Sherlock was there, bending over her. She could see the confusion in his eyes and she almost laughed, it was a look he wore a lot back when their lives were all jumbled together, but she hadn't seen it very much in the last five years. She missed it.

"You…" he finally managed in a voice that told her he didn't understand. "Why?"

"'S not supposed to happen," she said.

She could feel her strength draining. Five minutes…maybe less. The bullet went all the way through, front and back. She felt it. She was bleeding out, but that didn't matter because he was there and he was worth it.

"What's not supposed to happen?"

What did she mean by that? Though he had an idea, but she spoke as if she knew. She couldn't. That wasn't possible. Did she follow him there? No, he would've noticed and she'd come out of a side room.

"You don't die here," she replied, trying to hold back the cough that wanted to come, but was unable to do so.

Her coughing fit reminded him that she'd been shot, shot saving him. He reached for his phone, but she took his hand.

"You need an ambulance," he insisted.

She grinned. She was dying why the hell was she smiling?

"There's not enough time. Eight minutes, yeah? I have less than five."

Less than five? How could she know that?

"Sherlock," John yelled, reminding Sherlock that they already had a doctor.

He tried to stand up, but she held his hand with more strength than he would've imagined possible under the circumstances. He glanced at her, irritated.

"John's a doctor. He can help," he tried.

"The bullet went through and through. You can do the calculations. I'm beyond John's help. Just…stay, yeah?"

She lifted his hand and with her other, removed his glove. He watched her, not sure what she doing, but unable to question her. He'd done the calculations and he knew she was right. Less than five minutes. She gave her life to save his and if staying with her, allowing her to hold his hand would give her some semblance of peace then he was willing to do that. She took his hand in hers and smiled.

"Better," she said, as she gazed into his eyes.

He tried to work out who she was and what she was doing in that warehouse. She'd been in that room, but a nagging feeling told him she didn't belong there.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Instead of answering she reached up and touched his cheek.

"You're…young."

His brows drew together as he tried to work out what she meant. Young? She wasn't much older than him. Six, maybe seven years, but she made it sound as if he were much younger.

Maybe the blood loss was idling her mind. Another cough. Worse than the last. She drew her hand away from his cheek, but not before he saw it. He took her hand with his free one and looked at it what caught his eye. A ring, but not just any ring. It…it couldn't be.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

"You knew," she replied, gazing into his eyes without even glancing at the ring. "That's why you cried. Why…you slipped. You never said Holmes. You…always said…Tyler…even after…" another cough took hold. She was tired so very tired, but she was trying to hang on, wanting to spend just one more minute with the man she loved. The man who had become her entire life, who saved her.

Sherlock's mind tried to wrap around what she was telling him. Was her mind affected by the blood loss or was there something else going on? Something impossible. He didn't want to believe it, his rational mind tried to refuse it, but there was the ring. Proof that something else was at work. Then there were distinct smells, his flat, him, intermingled with the strawberry and jasmine she wore.

"What are you talking about? Holmes? What do you mean, _Holmes_?"

"This means…you knew…you…always knew, but 's okay." She grinned softly. "I knew…there would be a price…and if…loving you means…I die here…now…then 's okay. 'S worth it."

He felt as if something reached into his heart and wrenched loose a bit he didn't even knew existed. She loved him and he…he knew this was going to happen. He shoved aside the idea that it wasn't possible, focusing on the implications. He cried. He called her Holmes instead of Tyler. His name and the ring. She had the ring. What the hell did that mean? He knew, knew what it meant, as impossible as the situation was there was only one answer.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

She grinned, but he could see the light fading in her eyes.

"Please," he whispered, closing the distance between them as if he could somehow will her to hang on for just a few more moments because he had to know, had to know how this was possible, and that's when he drew close enough to really see her eyes. The room was dark, so he hadn't been able to tell, but her eyes…they were _her _eyes. He swallowed as his chest tightened. "Please," he pleaded, his composure slipping, "tell me who you are."

She grinned, her eyes closing for a moment and he knew if he hadn't drawn closer he wouldn't have heard her next words.

Another cough. She only had moments. His free hand cupped her cheek as if it had a mind of its own. She opened her eyes and focused on him. "I'm your impossible girl." For a moment something passed through her eyes. An emotion that he couldn't name. "Take care of Ally."

All the gears in his mind ground to a sudden halt. He swallowed.

"Alley?" he asked, his voice sounding unsteady.

Her eyes closed and then she was gone. Just gone. He felt the pulse in her neck. Nothing. His eyes gazed over her as his mind stumbled over an impossible truth. He knew who she was. His rational mind had no explanation. It simply wasn't possible, but he couldn't refute the evidence. The ring. His flat. His scent. The look in her eyes, the same way Mary and John looked at each other. The fact that she died saving him and did so without a second thought.

"Sherlock!" John yelled and he realized his friend must have been calling him throughout their exchange, but he was so focused on the woman, a woman whose name he didn't even know, that he hadn't heard his friend.

He laid her down and gently lifted her hand, removing the ring. His rational mind demanded proof. If she was who she claimed then that ring would give him the proof.

He stood up, pocketing the ring and crossed the room to untie John.

"What the hell were you doing?" his friend demanded.

"Fulfilling a last request," he relied, his voice sounded odd even to him. Thick with emotions that he tried to shove back into the room, but it was proving harder than normal.

"Fulfilling a…Oh, god, did she?"

"Yes," he replied, working at the knot that bound John's hands.

"Why the hell didn't you untie me sooner? I'm a bloody doctor!"

"You couldn't have saved her. The bullet went through and through. Nicked her lung I believe. She had less than five minutes."

"You could've let me try!"

"She knew she was dying and she knew you couldn't save her. She asked that I stay with her."

He finished untying his friend. John stood up, rubbing his wrists.

"Hang on. What do you mean she knew I couldn't save her?"

"That's what she said," Sherlock replied.

John's chest tightened as a thought struck him. That maybe he knew the woman lying dead by the hall. At that moment a flash of light from the other side of the room startled him. Both he and Sherlock raced across the room. The woman's body was gone.

"Where did she go?" John asked, gazing around the room.

"I…I…" Sherlock stammered, trying to work out how a body could vanish. It wasn't possible, but then she wasn't possible. _I'm your impossible girl_. "I don't know."

Bodies didn't disappear. That just didn't happen. John glanced at Sherlock and saw the same stunned look he wore. No help there then.

"Do you know who she was?" he asked.

"I believe…I believe she was my wife," Sherlock said.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	4. The Silencing Killer Pt1

Wow! You guys are brilliant! I've had so many fantastic responses I thought I'd post another chapter as a thank you! :)

* * *

John sat on the sofa, feigning reading the paper when, in fact, he was keeping a close eye on Sherlock who sat at the desk, an open laptop in front of him, but paying no attention to the screen or the far wall where his eyes seemed to be trained as his steepled fingers tapped rhythmically against his chin. He was thinking about _her. _

Three months gone and during every lull in cases Sherlock's mind turned back to the woman who died for him. As each day passed her mystery only grew, her existence becoming more impossible. He'd looked up every Tyler in London and then the entire country before widening his search and still nothing. None of them were her. She hadn't been lying. There wasn't a reason for her to lie, not when she was dying…dying for him. He sighed without notice.

He could recall every moment of their interaction. From the second she pushed him out of the way to her last words. _I'm your impossible girl. _Her existence made about as much sense three months later as it had in that warehouse. And where had her body gone? How had it vanished?

He examined the ring that first day, retrieving the original from his mother the next day, promising on pain of death he would return it unharmed, which let out a few experiments, but he knew how important it was to her, being her mother's wedding ring. The tests came back the same every time. Not two identical rings. Two of the same ring, which wasn't possible. The same flaws in the stones, exactly the same. Both metals had the same chemical compound. They were the same age. There was only one difference. The original didn't have an engraving, but the one she wore did. _My impossible girl._

John glanced up as Sherlock sighed again. His friend had called the woman his wife. Something the doctor's mind couldn't wrap around. It was true Sherlock could care, but a wife? And one his friend never mentioned?

He stayed that first night because Mycroft didn't have to tell him it was a danger night. As much as Sherlock tried to hide it he could hear the desperation in his friend's voice. Not like when Sherlock thought _the woman _was dead, no, far more than he'd ever seen. Almost a haunted look.

He called Mycroft that night and asked about Sherlock's wife. The elder Holmes had been completely taken back. Having no idea who John was referring to. This drew Mycroft's interest, but after weeks of searching and digging the elder Holmes had no more knowledge about this _wife _than he had after John recanted their exploits that night and the little information the detective shared.

Sherlock was drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of a text. He'd taken to reading his own texts after sending a description of that woman to his homeless network. All the evidence from that night pointed to one impossible possibility. She was his wife, his _future _wife, which meant he would see her again. His rational mind was still reluctant to fully believe it, evidence or not.

He pulled out his phone, noting the way John watched his every movement, but he ignored his friend as he read the text.

* * *

Rose felt the familiar sensation that she'd come to associate with materializing with the Vortex Manipulator. She glanced around the dark London street. _Bloody Vortex Manipulators! _This wasn't the hospital. She looked at the readings. _Bloody hell. _She was eleven years, three months, and five days off. Not to mention the wrong side of London. It usually wasn't that far off, okay there were two instances, but for the most part it was pretty accurate.

The Vortex Manipulator zapped, startling her. _What the hell? _

While she tried to work out what the hell was going on a woman's terrified scream reached her. Forgetting the device, she hurried toward the sound, reaching in her coat pocket and realizing she wasn't armed. _Bollocks! _She hadn't anticipated danger this time and she could almost hear Sherlock reminding her that with the lives they led she should always anticipate danger. She rolled her eyes at the thought.

She slowed down as she drew near the alley entrance.

"No! No! Let me go!" a woman yelled, late teens, early twenties judging from the sound of her voice.

Rose peeked around the corner in time to watch a man drag the woman by the hair from the back of a black van toward a door in the building she was leaning against. There was a lamp above the door and as he passed under the light she felt her stomach drop. _No. It can't be. _

She recognized him immediately. One of the more notorious cases Sherlock worked before they met. A serial killer known as the Silencing Killer. The man paused, glancing around as if he could feel her eyes on him. Rose ducked back, leaning against the building and trying to slow her rapid pulse. This was bad. Really, extremely not good. The Sherlock in her mind told her she was being redundant, but she didn't reply.

"Please!" the woman shouted and a moment later Rose heard the door close on the woman's cries.

She closed her eyes and took a breath, knowing she couldn't stand by and let that monster kill someone, even if it was the past, even if she shouldn't. She never could stand by and let things like that happen.

She pulled out her phone knowing that what she was about to do was probably as dangerous, if not more than chasing after that psycho, but she couldn't go after him without some form of backup. Lestrade didn't know her yet so a text to the Yard could bring anyone and it wouldn't be a priority, might even go overlooked. _He _wouldn't overlook her text because she knew him well, very well, knew exactly what to say to bring him there.

* * *

Sherlock read the text. It was from a blocked number. An address and two words. Code words that only three people knew. _Vatican Cameos_.

"Where's Mary?" the detective asked with such urgency that it startled John.

"Um…home," the doctor replied, setting the paper down. "Why?"

"Call her. Now," Sherlock insisted as he stood up and crossed the room to grab his coat and scarf.

John pulled out his phone and gave his wife a ring.

"Why am I calling Mary?" the doctor asked, also standing up and grabbing his own coat.

"Find out where she is."

"Hello?" John asked.

Sherlock shrugged into his coat and tied his scarf, seeming not to pay attention to the conversation, but in fact taking in every word. Two people besides himself knew those words and since John hadn't sent him the text that only left Mary…Mary and one other impossible possibility. He opened the door and heard John say his goodbyes before disconnecting.

"She's home," his friend announced as they started down the stairs. "Now are you going to tell me what the hell's going on?"

It was her, had to be. _His impossible girl. _Being his wife she would know the words and their meaning. His rational mind tried to insist that it simply wasn't possible and that this might very well be a trap, an elaborate trap to kill him, but he had to know. He didn't like not knowing.

He had to make sense of what happened back in that warehouse. Why she would die for him, even though he didn't know her. How she could have the ring and smell as she did and know about things not even John knew.

He climbed into the cab next to his friend and gave the cabbie the address.

"Are you planning on telling me what the hell's going on?" John growled.

Instead of answering he handed his phone over and let his friend read the text. John's eyes widened.

"You thought it was Mary?" his friend deduced.

"Yes," he replied, choosing not to point out that was obvious.

"Who do you think sent it?"

"_Her_."

It only took John a few seconds to realize who Sherlock was talking about. The woman from the warehouse. The one his friend claimed was his wife. John had been worried about Sherlock ever since that night, but he never thought for one moment that the detective actually snapped. He had to diffuse the situation, try to make his friend see the truth.

"Sherlock, she…she died," John said, slowly, watching his friend's reaction.

"I know that, John. I was there, if you recall," the detective replied, a slight flicker of some emotion that passed behind his friend's eyes too quickly for the doctor to name made his concern deepen.

"Okay. Then you realize this text can't actually be from her," John explained, handing Sherlock's phone back.

"But it is."

He watched the detective for a moment, trying to judge the situation. Sherlock didn't seem upset, but if his friend had gone round the bend the man might seem completely fine on the outside.

"That's…not possible."

"I know," Sherlock replied, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

John sat back after that, debating on whether or not he should call Mycroft. He decided the first chance he got he'd give Sherlock's brother a ring.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	5. The Silencing Killer Pt2

Warning...there is a serial killer so there is some creepy bad juju serial killer stuff...just saying. :)

* * *

Rose knew she should wait. It was the safest thing, but as the minutes ticked by she began inching around the corner. Footsteps behind her drew her attention and she glanced back down the road. She couldn't help grinning as she caught sight of her husband running toward her. This version wasn't her husband yet, but she couldn't not think of him that way, not after all the years they spent together.

"Got my text then?" she asked, already knowing the answer, but not sure exactly what to say, this, most likely being the first time he'd seen her.

It wasn't until Sherlock drew up next to her that he noted the changes. The few wrinkles that had been around her eyes were softer. Her eyes themselves few years younger. She wore a deep purple jumper, black trousers, and a different pair of trainers, nearly the same color. The jacket was different as well. Black and a bit similar to his. She was younger, reaffirming the theory that his rational mind was still at odds with.

"I could hardly ignore such a text, but then you knew that," he replied.

"Bang on," she said, laughing as she resisted the urge to throw her arms around his neck.

That wouldn't do. He seemed to recognize her, but something in his eyes told her that he was puzzled over her, which meant he didn't know who she was. At that moment John came running down the street making her grin.

"We're all here then. Good."

John slowed down, eyes widening as they fell on her.

"No…but…you…you…" the doctor stammered, turning his attention to Sherlock. "How can she be here? How can she be a-"

"I don't know," Sherlock said, cutting his friend off.

She was younger and from her confused look he deduced that she didn't know what John was talking about. Didn't know she was going to die. Well, technically they were all going to die, but she didn't know that they'd witnessed her death not three months ago. He needed more information before he knew how to proceed with that knowledge and John revealing what they knew might frighten her, cause her to run and she held all the answers he sought.

"No…but…no…" his friend stammered, making Sherlock roll his eyes.

"Captain Watson," she commanded, reaching that part of him who would always be a soldier. John snapped to attention, eyes training on her like only a soldier could. "Did you bring your gun?"

The man felt his pockets.

"I-"

Sherlock withdrew John's gun and handed it over, but without taking his eyes from the woman. She not only knew who his friend was she knew his rank as well, but then that fit with the impossible picture.

"Who are you?" John asked after a moment.

The woman grinned as she held out her hand.

"Rose…" her eyes shifted to Sherlock and back. "…Tyler and you're Doctor John Watson formerly Captain John Watson wounded in Afghanistan."

John's eyes widened.

"How did you know that?" She merely smiled. The doctor glanced at the detective. "Sherlock, how did she know that?"

"I believe I've already explained that," he replied, giving John a knowing look.

"But…no…but you said-"

"Sherlock?" she interrupted, fearing that something was about to be said that she probably shouldn't know.

"Of course," he replied, patting his pocket. He glanced around the corner, noting the black van parked next to a side door. "Why did you bring us here?"

"Serial killer," she explained, also glancing around the corner. "He targets women and he's taken one into that building…" she glanced at her watch. "seventeen minutes ago. We have to stop him."

Before he could ask for further details she took his hand and practically pulled him with her as she raced down the alley toward the side door. She might be shorter than him, but she moved quickly. She released his hand and tried the door. It was locked. He reached for his lock picks, but before he could pull them out she pulled something that appeared to be a strange torch from hers. As he watched she pointed it at the door handle and pushed the button. It emitted a strange warbling sound and the soft click of the door unlocking greeted them. _How the hell did she do that? _

"What is that?" he asked, eyeing the device as she slid it back into her pocket.

"Sonic screwdriver," she replied, which told him nothing.

"Sonic what?" John asked, but she held a finger to her lips as she opened the door.

The hall appeared to be empty. He noticed her muscles tense indicating she meant to step into the hall first, but she didn't have a weapon. He grabbed her arm and locked eyes with her, intent on letting her know he was going first as he pulled his gun out, but the moment his eyes met hers he froze. Standing under the outside lamp he could clearly see the emotions churning behind her deep hazel eyes. Love, adoration, compassion. Things he would've mocked a few years ago, but those emotions were directed at him and there was something, something he couldn't name, but it told him that this woman knew him, possibly more than he knew himself. It forced his rational mind to realize the truth of who she was…or who she would be. He swallowed, stomping out the emotions that threatened to take over as he forced himself to tear his gaze from hers. Without an explanation he stepped through the door and into the hall. She followed mutely, but he could feel her eyes on him the entire time.

Rose followed him down the hall with John behind her. She mentally kicked herself for not bringing her own gun, but she hadn't used the Vortex Manipulator in almost two years and she'd only come back to retrieve something. An anniversary gift, something he mentioned a few times. She should've known something would happen, seemed no matter how much time passed she was still as jeopardy friendly as ever.

The hall spilt. Sherlock motioned for John to take the new corridor, but she continued down the hall with the detective. There was a door at the end and they cautiously crept toward it.

She couldn't help grinning, feeling that familiar rush of adrenaline. They drew up to the door and paused. She could see his plan without being told because she knew him well enough. Kick in the door, step into the room with the gun, fire if he had to. This was when they would do their _just in case _ritual. One kiss and the words just in case one of them didn't make it, not goodbye because they couldn't say that, but the man next to her wasn't the man she married, he would be, but he wasn't yet. So, instead, she put her arm on his, drawing his eyes first to her hand and then to her.

"Be careful, yeah?" she whispered.

His brows drew together in that way that told her he was a bit surprised and a bit confused, but he nodded, making her grin. Then he turned back to the door and kicked it open, stepping into the room with her right behind.

Henry Grant, the man who would be known as the Silencing Killer, was bent over an operating table that was bolted to the floor. The woman he drug in the room lay motionless on the table. Rose's heart dropped. Where they too late? In the next moment that was shoved to the back of her mind as Henry picked up an instrument and threw it at them, well, at Sherlock, but Rose put her arm out and the instrument, a scalpel, imbedded itself in her lower arm. Pain flared up her arm, but she ignored it as she pulled the scalpel out and dropped it to the floor. Then the man was running toward another door in the room.

Sherlock fired his gun, but Henry dashed through the door. The detective gave chase.

"Sherlock, wait!" she yelled, but he ignored her as he ran off after the psycho on his own. _Bloody hell. _She could've slapped him.

She hurried to the woman lying on the table. _Don't be dead. Please, don't be dead. _He hadn't cut into the woman, but her mouth was halfway sewn shut. Rose shivered in revulsion at the act, but she pushed her feelings aside as she felt for a pulse. It was there. Steady. Strong. She let out a sigh of relief.

He must have given the woman a sedative. When it wore off he would've began his sadistic torture, keeping her alive and awake, but unable to cry out. Another shiver passed through Rose as her thoughts turned dark and any fear of changing the past vanished in her desire to put a bullet through that man's head. Daleks, Cybermen, Werewolves she could handle, but sadistic serial killers brought out the worst side of her, a side she didn't even know existed until she tangled with the first one.

She pulled out her phone and called for an ambulance. As she ended the call she heard footsteps running down the hall.

"I heard a shot," John said hurrying into the room. "Is everything…" His eyes fell on the woman. "…Oh, god. Is she-"

He ran across the room.

"She's alive. I think he gave her a sedative, but can you remove that?" Rose asked, gesturing at the stitches. "I think it would be best if she didn't wake up like this."

"Yeah…um…" the doctor glanced around until his eyes fell on another scalpel. He picked it up and began carefully removing the stitches. "He's a sick bastard." He glanced at her seeming to remember who he was talking to. "Sorry."

"Don't be. Sick bastard pretty much sums him up," she replied, giving John a grin that he returned.

"Where's Sherlock?"

"The idiot genius ran off after our psycho serial killer on his own."

John glanced at her. He could hear the concern in her voice, something he wasn't at all used to hearing directed at Sherlock.

"He'll be all right."

"I hope so. It's just hard because he doesn't really know me yet," she paused, glancing at John as she realized what she said.

The doctor's eyes turned to her.

"What do you mean he doesn't know you yet? We saw you-"

She put her finger to his lips silencing him. She grinned at the confusion in his eyes.

"You can't tell me. Maybe you have seen me, but that hasn't happened yet to me."

"What?"

"Time travel," Sherlock said, his deep voice filling the room.

She turned to him, grinning because he was all right and half wanting to slap him for running off.

"Bang on," she replied, crossing the room toward him. "But then, brilliant as you are, I knew you'd figure it out."

He smiled in return.

"Sorry…what?" John exclaimed. "Time travel? Did you seriously say _time travel_?"

"You're patient appears to be waking," the detective replied, making John turn his attention to the woman lying on the table. "The killer's gone. If you're all right here Rose and I will direct the emergency workers inside when they arrive."

John merely nodded as he worked at untying the woman while telling her she was safe and help was on the way. Rose followed Sherlock out of the room and down the hall.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	6. The Silencing Killer Pt3

Sherlock paused at the outside door. Rose waited, wondering what he was doing and running through her list of things she could and couldn't tell him if he started questioning her, but he surprised her.

"Remove your coat," he instructed, not ordered, but it was fairly close. She raised her brow. "You were injured."

"'S nothing," she dismissed, although she knew that wasn't entirely true because she could feel the wound in her arm throbbing, but she ignored it.

"I'll be the judge."

Most people would think he was being demanding, but she could hear the concern in his voice. She'd always been able to judge his feelings, which were there whether he denied them or not. She sighed, removing her coat. The sleeve of her purple jumper was damp with her blood that had soaked through the material. She pulled the sleeve back, wincing as it grazed the wound.

He took her arm and turned it over. Blood seeped out of the wound, not too deep, probably due to her thick coat, but it was three inches below her wrist in the underside of her lower arm, plenty of veins for a thrown scalpel to strike. It missed the artery, luckily.

"I told you 's not bad," she said.

He glanced at her, which seemed to silence her, as if she knew arguing with him was a futile endeavor. A slight smile ghosted over his lips, pleased with that idea. Then he pulled out the bottle of rubbing alcohol that he pocketed from the crime scene. He pulled off the cap and glanced at her.

"This is going to hurt."

Then he poured enough over her wound to be sure it was clean. She hissed, but she didn't pull away from him. He replaced the cap and pulled out the gauze, also taken from the crime scene, and wrapped her wound.

He was being careful. It wasn't the same care he would show later, being married to him for nearly twelve years she could tell the difference, but this was the beginning. She could see that. Feel it in his touch and it brought out a smile. Even twelve years earlier he was still him, still the same man.

"Thank you," she said when he finished up and slowly pulled her sleeve down.

He caught her gaze, noting the smile she wore, but stopping himself from returning it. She would be gone soon, but he had questions. Questions he knew she wouldn't answer if he asked so he tried the other way.

"Can't have my wife wondering around London with an undressed injury," he replied.

Her eyes widened, just for a moment, but it was enough for him to know. Know the truth of his theory.

"I…I should go," she said, shrugging into her coat and wincing as she slid her injured arm into the sleeve.

"Back to your husband." He watched her carefully, but she didn't betray any emotions. Pressing on then. "And your child."

He paused, that being one more deduction than he anticipated. A child? Their child? A host of emotions swept over him in the blink of an eye. Fear, confusion, surprise and something else…something akin to what he felt when he found out he was John's best friend, but in the next moment he swept the feelings aside.

Her eyes snapped to his and, again, he was nearly overwhelmed by the emotions that lay behind them, but he ignored that as well.

"Or should I say _our _child," he continued, trying to throw her off, get her to reveal the answers he sought.

Instead she surprised him by taking his hands and grinning.

"Too brilliant for your own good. You know that, yeah?" she asked, giving his hands a squeeze.

He glanced at their hands in surprise before turning his gaze to her. The emotions she elicited in him were there again, bleeding through the door.

"Where did you come from?" he asked, unable to stop himself from voicing the question that had been plaguing him since she died saving his life.

"Somewhere…different," she said, which wasn't an answer.

"Was it Mycroft? Did he do this?"

She laughed and the sound made him want to smile, but he resisted the urge.

"Everything doesn't revolve around you and your brother. But, no, Mike didn't have anything to do with my arrival or our accidental meetings or the way I can travel in time. He doesn't know how I can do what I do. He'd like to know, I'm sure, but he stopped asking about it a long time ago. Almost twelve years."

He took in her words. Twelve years, there seemed to be something significant about the number, something important to her, but he couldn't deduce what it was. So Mycroft didn't have anything to do with this. _My arrival. _What did that mean? The word _arrival _and the way she used it seemed strange.

He turned her hand over in his. The ring was there on her finger. The one he'd taken off her body. As impossible as it may be his theory was correct. This woman who saved his life would one day be his wife. For a brief moment he felt compelled to tell her, even if she ran because maybe if she knew he could stop it, save her, but in that moment his mind ran through all the ends that revelation could bring. His death, which meant they'd never meet and for some reason that thought paused him. Why would that matter? He hardly knew her and he'd never been one for sentiment. Then there was John's death after his. That stilled the words. He couldn't let John die. He made a vow, one he never intended to break.

Sirens in the distance invaded his thoughts. She smiled, giving his hands another squeeze before releasing them.

"That's me then," she said. She lifted her other arm and pulled back the sleeve. There was some sort of leather device with a computer screen strapped to her arm. She punched in a series of numbers and then glanced at him, smiling.

"When will I see you again?" he asked, knowing this was far from the last time he would see her.

"When London goes dark," she replied, but before he could question her she pressed a button on that device and with an electrical zapping noise she was gone.

He stared at the spot she occupied not even a moment ago. The only trace of her was the scent of strawberry and jasmine that still hung in the air. She was gone. He grinned as he reached for the door. Rose Tyler. The most impossible woman he'd ever met. A woman who traveled in time. A woman he married. He shoved that thought aside, not entire sure how he felt about it and settled on the phrase she gave him. His impossible girl.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	7. Blackout Pt1

Rose typed the address and date into the Vortex Manipulator. She didn't use it very often, but Sherlock was stuck on a case. He needed those file and since the insurance company burned down five years ago taking all the files, computer or otherwise, with it there was only one way to get them. She pushed the button and a moment later found herself standing…in a bathroom. Okay, so loo at the insurance agency.

Good thing she was alone. The last thing she wanted to do was explain her unexpected presence to anyone, that'd only happened five times, which wasn't too bad given how many times she'd used the device.

She walked over to the door and pushed it open, stepping out into a short hall. She could hear noises from one end, noises that sounded suspiciously like restaurant chatter, but two waiters and a busboy at the other end, near the exit, drew her attention. One man was holding a young girl around the same age as Alley, seven, maybe eight. One hand clamped over her mouth while he held her off the ground by the waste.

"Let her go!" Rose demanded running over to them.

She reached for her gun, but the busboy was already holding a gun. He aimed it at her and she slowed down.

"Don't move," the busboy demanded.

"Shoot her," the waiter with the girl insisted.

"Yeah, because that won't draw attention," the busboy snapped. "Idiot." He motioned with the gun. "Come on then."

"What are you doing?" the second waiter asked.

"We can't leave her here. She's seen our faces."

"So, we've got…" the second waiter glanced at his watch. "Less than ten minutes and it won't matter."

"I don't know about you, but I don't want my face all over the news two seconds after the power comes back on."

Wait. What? Power? What power? Rose glanced at each of them in turn. The waiters, at least the big one holding the girl, seemed to be muscle. The busboy was the one in charge. At least, she thought so, though the second waiter seemed pretty bossy too.

"Fine," the second waiter snapped.

Okay, maybe he was the one in charge.

"Come on sweetheart," the busboy said, giving her a smile she really didn't care for.

She'd love nothing more than to knee him in the…she returned his smile with a sarcastic one of her own. One that seemed to say _yeah, you wish. _The second waiter opened the door, stepping out, followed by the brute holding the girl, then her, and the busboy last, still pointing the gun at her.

* * *

"This woman claims that her husband's haunting her. He died two months ago, but even after she boxed his belongings up and put them in the attic she keeps finding them around her flat. Razor and aftershave in the bath. His robe draped over a kitchen chair. His clothes in the laundry," John said.

He'd been trying to find a case for two days and he hadn't had any luck so far. Ever since Rose died saving Sherlock his friend had become obsessed with her. At first, of course, he thought Sherlock went round the bend, but after meeting the woman who ought to be dead he really didn't know what to think.

Time travel, someone coming back from the dead, not that that hadn't happened to him, mind, but none of it was normal. Cases. Now that was normal.

"If you're only going to waste my time, don't bother," Sherlock replied, keeping his gaze fixed out the window.

John didn't like the way his friend constantly looked out the window, more than he used to. It was almost as if he was waiting for something…or someone. Was Sherlock waiting for her? Probably.

"She's being haunted. That's not interesting enough for you?" John asked.

"She isn't being haunted, John. Someone's living in her attic. A man."

"Wait. What?"

"It's-" Sherlock paused as the power turned out. Not just Baker Street, but as far as he could see. This was exactly what he'd been waiting for. He grinned. "Finally."

"What happened?" John asked, the entire flat having gone dark.

"Power's out," Sherlock replied and he sounded almost gleeful, which worried the doctor.

Whenever Sherlock was happy it always made him nervous because it usually involved someone with a weapon, a murder, and at least one of them, usually him, in life or death danger.

"For the block?" he asked.

"All of London," Sherlock replied.

"Wait. What?"

At that moment Sherlock's mobile rang. He glanced at it and sighed. Just Lestrade. He decided to answer least the inspector tie up the line.

* * *

Rose sat on the carpeted floor in the back of the van the men loaded both her and the girl into. Her back was against the left wall, her arms around the young girl as she eyed the busboy sitting across from her, still pointing the gun at her. She had her own weapon, but she didn't want the girl to get caught in the crossfire. That wasn't something she was willing to risk so she decided to wait and find out what they planned, hopefully a safer opportunity would present itself.

"What do you want with her?" she asked.

"We were paid to…take care of her for a few days," the busboy replied with a smirk.

"Kidnap her you mean."

"Tomato, tamato," he shrugged, as if he really didn't care what she thought, which he probably didn't.

There were only a few reasons why someone would kidnap a child. She dismissed the first two. They didn't want her for themselves, which was good. Although none of them were wearing masks, which meant they were either planning on going into hiding after the job, something she doubted, or they weren't planning on leaving anyone alive who could identify them. Her entire body flooded with anger at that thought, but she held it back.

"Ransom?" she asked.

"Not sure. We don't ask questions. Just do what we're paid."

Hang on…what?

"Wait…so you're being paid to take her and hold her somewhere for a couple days?"

The busboy smirked again.

"Pretty smart for a blonde. I kind of like that."

She resisted the urge to tell him exactly where he could shove it. She had to be careful. She was more worried about the girl and her life might very well depend on how this played out.

* * *

"Yes?" Sherlock snapped, irritated that Lestrade was tying up the line on the one night he'd been waiting a month for. The night he was to see her again. "And please tell me you're not calling to tell me London's gone dark. I can see that…or not see that as it were, for myself."

"Wait. How did you know it was all of London?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock sighed. "Never mind. Do you know why the power's out?"

Another sigh.

"No and honestly I couldn't-"

"Someone hacked into the power grid and shut down the entire city, which means-"

"It was elaborate," Sherlock finished.

Someone shut down all of London. Something was going to happen, but what?

"Sherlock," John said, interrupting him.

"Not now, John, I'm-"

"It's Mycroft and he says it's an emergency."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. His brother thought everything was an emergency. Between Lestrade and Mycroft he wasn't going to have any time to find Rose.

"Call me if anything happens," he said, hanging up before the inspector could protest.

It wasn't as if he could find the hacker at the moment. Not without power. He took John's phone.

"What is it this time Mycroft? Afraid of sitting alone in the dark?" he asked.

"There's no time for games, Sherlock. The Ambassador's daughter has been taken," Mycroft snapped. "I'm on my way to Baker Street now."

Ambassador's daughter?

"Don't you have people for that sort of thing?"

"I can't spare them."

"What do you mean, you can't spare them? Is the Ambassador's daughter's kidnapping not a high enough priority for them?" he asked, knowing there was something more going on.

"What?" John exclaimed, but he ignored his friend.

"It's a distraction," Mycroft replied.

So there was something more going on.

"A distraction from what?" he inquired.

"My driver's pulling up now. I'll fill you in on the way."

Mycroft disconnected before Sherlock could ask any more questions. He grabbed his coat, shrugging into it, then his scarf. He glanced at John and noted his friend doing the same.

"What's going on?" John asked as he opened the door.

"Mycroft said he'd fill us in on the way," Sherlock replied stepping out and hurrying down the stairs.

He heard John follow and a few minutes later Sherlock climbed into the back of Mycroft's car while John sat in the front, next to the driver. His brother was texting, but when the car pulled out Mycroft lowered his phone.

"So?" Sherlock asked, impatiently.

"The power was taken out all across London," his brother said.

"I already knew that."

"Yes, but you probably didn't know it was done by a terrorist organization." Sherlock raised his brow. "We captured their leader a few weeks back. This is their attempt to free him."

"And the girl?"

"Something to occupy us, probably not their only plan, which is why I can't afford to pull people in."

He smirked, knowing his brother too well.

"You're bringing me in because you aren't sure you can trust them."

Mycroft glanced at him, but that glance was enough to confirm his suspicions. His smirk became a smile.

"There were very few people who knew where the Ambassador would be dining tonight and that his family would be present."

"You really should take better care of the people you hire, brother dear," he replied.

Mycroft glared in irritation.

"Once we locate the Ambassador's daughter and this threat-"

Sherlock's eyes snapped to his brother.

"_We_?" he exclaimed.

"I'll be accompanying you, of course," Mycroft replied with a grin.

"Accompanying me?" Sherlock asked, that being the worst idea he ever heard.

He didn't at all like the sound of that. If his brother was going to be there what did Mycroft need with him?

"Certainly. She is the Ambassador's daughter after all."

He raised his brow.

"I thought you didn't do leg work."

Mycroft gave a loathsome sigh.

"Not if I can help it," his brother replied, giving him a smile, "but don't fret, I'll leave most of that to you and John, of course."

So, his brother was bringing them along so they could do all the work and Mycroft could take all the credit. He rolled his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to work a case with his brother. The man was an incessant show off.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	8. Blackout Pt2

Thank you for all the favorites and follows and, of course, all the lovely reviews! :)

* * *

They arrived at the crime scene. A posh restaurant on the upscale side of town. Sherlock climbed out of the car. He noted the two men stationed near the door. The way they held themselves, eyes trained front, they might be wearing civilian clothes but…he glanced at Mycroft, raising his brow.

"Soldiers?" he asked.

"I couldn't allow anyone to leave," his brother replied, as if that should've been obvious.

"Where are the police?" John asked.

"Why would I involve the police?" Mycroft inquired.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because a child's been kidnapped?" the doctor replied with grating sarcasm.

"Not _a child, _John. The Ambassador's daughter. My dear brother couldn't chance that getting out. Think of the scandal. Am I right, brother dear?" Sherlock asked, eyeing Mycroft. His brother cleared his throat in irritation. The detective glanced at John, smiling. "The Ambassador's daughter taken right out from under the watchful gaze of Mycroft Holmes."

"Wait. What?" John asked, wondering exactly what Sherlock meant by that.

It sounded as if Mycroft was there.

"You _were_ keeping an eye on them, weren't you Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, glancing at his brother.

Mycroft averted his gaze, telling the detective that he had, in fact, been watching the Ambassador. Making sure nothing happened, but then it had and now his brother was on the hook, which would be the only reason his brother would have anything to do with working an actual case. He grinned as they entered the restaurant.

There were six more soldiers inside, also in civilian clothes, most likely to keep the customers from causing a riot. They probably believed the men to be from the Yard, if he knew his brother half as well as he thought.

"Wait," John said after stepping inside. "How can the lights be on if the power's out?"

"Mycroft sent a generator ahead. It's fairly obvious the lighting is temporary. The restaurant's ceiling lights are still off as are the wall scones," Sherlock replied, offhandedly as he pointed them out.

"Oh."

Two soldiers were stationed outside the hall that led to the restrooms and back exit.

"No one's been allowed in the area?" he inquired, already knowing the answer.

"Obviously not. I couldn't have the area contaminated," Mycroft replied.

"You've been keeping people out of the bathrooms the entire time?" John inquired.

"You witnessed the kidnapping," Sherlock said, ignoring his friend's question, wanting to get this case solved as quickly as possible for two reasons.

One, he loathed working with his brother and two he wanted to be free if Rose sent him a text or called. He spent a month planning what he was going to say to her…to get answers.

"Only what happened inside," his brother replied.

"Any witnesses?"

"One. A waiter."

"I'll need to speak with him," Sherlock replied entering the hall.

"Obviously."

The detective stopped halfway down the hall.

"How did it happen?" he asked, glancing at Mycroft.

"The child left the table, I suspect to use the restroom. She walked down the hall followed by a waiter. Six foot seven, stocky, low IQ-"

"Yes. The muscle. Moving on," Sherlock snapped, not wanting to spend the next twenty minutes on one individual.

Mycroft blinked in irritation, but pulled himself, grudgingly, from his description.

"_The muscle _as you put it, took hold of the girl, covering her mouth to keep her quiet while another waiter, five foot six, medium build…" Mycroft glanced at Sherlock trailing off. "And a busboy entered the hall. The girl was taken out the back exit with a woman."

"A woman?" he asked.

His brother hadn't mentioned a woman. Who was she? Obviously Mycroft found her to be unimportant, which meant unrelated to the Ambassador.

"She exited the bathroom as the men were nearing the back door. She appeared to be trying to stop them, but the busboy held a gun on her."

"So two people were kidnapped," John said and Sherlock could tell from the look on his friend's face that John had also come to the conclusion that the woman was unimportant to Mycroft, which was why he hadn't mentioned her.

"Technically, I suppose."

Sherlock had already deduced everything he could from the hall, but there was something familiar…something he couldn't quite place. Wait. He drew closer to the bathroom door. The one the woman had exited. There was a scent, not perfume, not quite…his eyes widened as he realized exactly what it was. He felt his pulse quicken as he eyed his brother.

"The woman. Describe her," he demanded, his voice icy calm.

"Um…" Mycroft stammered, taken back by the desperation in his brother's voice, something most people might've taken as anger, but he knew better. Although Sherlock was prone to, he almost shivered in revulsion, emotion on occasion this seemed different, stronger. He watched his younger sibling carefully. "Blonde. Petite. Five foot Five-"

"What was she wearing?" Sherlock interrupted.

It was her. Rose. He was sure the moment he smelled the faint traces of strawberry and jasmine that still clung to the area. She was there, not an hour ago. She witnessed the men taking the Ambassador's daughter and like she'd done when that woman was taken by the serial killer she couldn't stand by. There hadn't been time to text him. She tried to stop them and they took her too.

"Long dark coat, a bit similar to the one you wear, but shorter. Black trousers, trainers-"

"I need to speak with the witness," Sherlock interrupted, walking past Mycroft and into the restaurant.

John watched the display. He knew who Mycroft's description matched, who Sherlock thought the woman was. Could it be her? It seemed too much of a coincidence to him. He caught the look the elder Holmes was giving him. Mycroft wanted to know what was going on, but ever since they tangled with that serial killer he hadn't said anything about Rose. Not to Mycroft, not even to Mary, mainly because he was worried his wife would think he was as mad as he thought Sherlock had been. With Mycroft though, he was more worried about what the man might do.

"Who is she?" Mycroft asked.

"Ask your brother," he replied, hurrying past the man before he could be further questioned.

* * *

The van finally stopped. The engine turned off. Rose, glanced at her watch, carefully concealing that fact by making it seem as if she were checking the girl. Fifty-seven minutes. That's how long they'd been driving. She made sure to pay attention to every turn, whether right or left and how long they traveled between turns. Being married to a genius who was as human she was Rose learned a few tricks and she used those when she had need, like observing details and storing that information. She wasn't on Sherlock's level, Ally was or would be when she was older and it wasn't something Rose's mind did automatically, like her husband, but when it was necessary, as it was now, she could do it.

A few minutes later the back opened.

"Get out," the busboy ordered, motioning with the gun.

She kept the girl close to her as she slowly walked to the open doors where the larger waiter, _the muscle_, as she thought of him, something she knew Sherlock would call him, waited.

"Take the girl inside," the busboy instructed as soon as they climbed out.

The Muscle, grabbed the girl and wrenched her away from Rose. The girl started to yell and kick at the man, but she knew that was futile. At the moment the three men were in charge of the situation.

"It's all right, sweetie," Rose said, using the same endearment she used for her daughter when Ally was afraid, same one her mum used for her. "I'll be there in a minute. You'll be all right."

The girl stopped and allowed the man to lead her toward a cottage the van was parked next to, but she wasn't happy. Rose could blame the girl.

"Keep this on her," the busboy said, handing the gun to the second waiter.

So the busboy _was _the one in charge.

"What are you doing, Tom?" the second waiter asked.

No masks and now they were using names. That didn't bode well for her future, but it was the girl she was more worried about.

"I'm not bringing her inside until I make sure she isn't hiding anything," Tom replied stepping toward her.

"Bring her inside? She's a liability. We should get rid of her," the man insisted, cocking the gun.

Tom rounded on the other man.

"And that's why you're not in charge, Darnel."

"I know why you want to keep her around," Darnel smirked.

"She kept the girl under control. We're going to have to keep that little brat for the next day or so. I don't know about you, but I'd rather not listen to her scream the entire time. As long as this one…" Tom eyed Rose, "can be useful she stays alive. Understand?"

Darnel didn't seem happy about the idea, but he nodded.

"Fine."

Tom stepped toward her again and began frisking her, boldly, making her want to slap him. He checked her ankles, calves, thighs, getting very close to her…she glared at him wanting nothing more than to kick his face as he smirked.

"Would you hurry up?" Darnel snapped. "I don't want to stand out here all night.

Tom grudgingly moved on to her sides and paused. She knew what he found. He eyed her.

"What's this then?" he said, but she could tell he already knew.

He unbuttoned her coat and reached next to her right side, brushing her chest in the process. Not by accident. She betrayed no emotion, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of thinking he frightened her. She'd come across far worse than him, but she also knew in the right situation he could be very dangerous. He pulled her gun out. She noted the widening to Darnel's eyes.

"I told you we should kill her. She's with the police," Darnel insisted, aiming the gun at her.

"I'm not with the police," she replied, calmly, not wanting to set him off further.

"Why do you have a gun?" Tom asked.

"For protection," she said, grabbing the first credible story that came to mind. One of the cases she worked with Sherlock.

"Protection?"

"It's my ex-husband. He's been stalking me."

"So you bought a gun?"

"Not at first. I went to the police, but they said they couldn't do anything until he did something and when he finally did break into my flat I called them, but they said there wasn't enough evidence. I wanted to protect myself so, yeah, I bought a gun."

Tom looked over the weapon.

"Military grade." _Bullocks! _Of course he'd know about guns. "Where did you get it?"

"I didn't want to wait so I found someone who would sell me one," she lied.

Tom grinned.

"Not exactly legal."

She smirked in reply.

"It's not as if I kidnapped a little girl."

That stopped his grin and for a moment she worried that she might've stepped over the line, but his grin returned as he slid her gun into the back of his jeans.

"True." He reached into her coat pockets one at a time. "Let's see what else you're hiding."

He pulled her mobile out. She held the sigh in that wanted to escape. There went her idea to text Sherlock. He slid it into his own pocket. She was glad it was password protected. The last thing she needed was for them to find out she was connected to Sherlock Holmes. They'd either use that knowledge or kill her.

He reached into her other pocket and she knew what he would find. Her mind quickly came up with an explanation; one she hoped would keep him from taking it away. His brows drew together in confusion as his hand closed around the sonic. He pulled it out, examining it. He pressed the button and it emitted the familiar warble.

"It's for my little brother," she lied. Tom raised his brow. "It's one of those sci fi toys."

To her relief he slid it back into her pocket.

"What're you doing?" Darnel demanded.

"It's just a toy," Tom replied. "Might keep the girl occupied."

"What if she uses it to escape?"

Tom rounded on the other man again.

"Are you questioning my decision?" he snapped.

They eyed each other for a moment and then Darnel finally looked away.

"Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you," the man grudgingly replied.

Tom took his gun back and then grabbed Rose's arm and led her toward the cottage with Darnel following. Tom seemed to be taken with her, which she knew could be both good and very bad, but if it came down to it she might be able to use that. Only as a last resort though because she knew how dangerous that could be.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	9. Blackout Pt3

Nearly thirty minutes had passed and Sherlock was no closer to figuring out who took Rose and the Ambassadors daughter. He questioned the waiter who had been out on a smoke break and watched the men load them into the back of a black van. He took down the description, noting Mycroft hanging on every word. He also noted the way his brother had been watching him since he asked about the woman, but he ignored that. Not really caring what his brother thought.

"Tell me you have something," he asked as John returned from questioning the kitchen staff.

"According to the employees they were temps from an agency, unfortunately with the blackout I can't get hold of anyone at the agency-"

"Of course not," Sherlock replied, snappishly in his irritation. "This was all meticulously planned." He walked toward the back exit. "I'll have a look at the outside."

He doubted there would be any more clues out there. At least, anything that would tell him where they were going. The blackout made things nearly impossible. Mycroft couldn't access the cameras and since the blackout began moments after the van left the parking lot none of the cameras would've picked anything up anyway.

Mycroft followed John and his brother out into the evening air, keeping a close watch on Sherlock. The woman. Who was she? His brother knew and she seemed to be important to him. He remembered John asking about a wife. As far as he knew Sherlock never married. He couldn't recall his brother ever being that close to anyone.

Sherlock had been infatuated with Miss Adler and he knew about their brief tryst. His brother had cared about her, but with Miss Adler it had been more of an infatuation and a way to protect herself, she being more inclined toward individuals of a more feminine persuasion.

He also knew about the _other _trysts. As was the case with Janine, but those had been out of necessity. The women in question more pawns, something he could understand, but a wife…he didn't believe it. He, of course, checked, just to make sure, but there were no records and none of the people he contacted, even the ones who had contact with Sherlock during the two year absence could recall his brother ever mentioning a wife.

* * *

Rose sat on the small bed with the girl, Bonnie, she learned. The room was bare with the exception of the bed they were sitting on. Not even a window. The only way out was through the locked door. She could get it open with the sonic, but that still left three men on the other side with two guns that she knew of.

"I want to go home," Bonnie said.

"I know," Rose replied in a soothing voice, brushing the girl's red curls with her hand. "We'll get out of here."

"How?"

"I'll think of something, yeah?"

Though she wasn't entirely sure what that something was…yet.

"What?" the girl asked.

She could see the fear in Bonnie's green eyes and she wanted to take that away.

"I'm not sure yet, but I have something they don't know about." She pulled her sonic out and gave the girl a smile. "A secret weapon."

"What is it?"

She handed the sonic to Bonnie, hoping it would take a bit of that fear away.

"It's called a sonic screwdriver."

The girl looked at it for a moment and then handed it back.

"It doesn't look like a screwdriver."

Rose grinned.

"Because it's _sonic_."

"What's it do?"

"All kinds of things. Unlocks doors, scans computers, cuts through wire, recharges batteries-"

Bonnie's eyes lit up.

"It charges batteries?" the girl asked and Rose could hear the hope in her voice.

"Yeah, why?" she asked.

"Could it charge the battery in my phone?"

Rose's entire focus turned to the girl. Hope rising like the sun in her chest.

"You have a phone?"

"Yeah." Bonnie reached into the sash in her dress and pulled a small, light pink phone out. Rose grinned. "I wasn't supposed to bring it, which is why I hid it, but the battery died. I was going to charge it in the loo, but when they grabbed me I dropped my purse and that's where the charger is."

"But you didn't have your phone in your purse?"

"I did, but I was texting one of my friends when I was at the Embassy with my parents, but when my dad walked it I hid it in my dress."

Rose grinned.

"Good thing," she said, taking the girl's phone.

She pulled the back case off and used the sonic to charge the battery. Once it was charged she could text Sherlock and give him directions. She wasn't sure if he knew her yet, but there were two words that would get him there.

* * *

Sherlock examined the area where the van had been parked. He was right about the lack of clues. There wasn't anything that would give him an idea of where they went. He knew he would find them because each time he saw her she was younger. He moved forward while she moved back, which told him that he solved the case, that he somehow was able to find her, but at the moment he couldn't see how.

There had to be something, something he was overlooking. His phone chimed and he rolled his eyes, sure it was Lestrade. He pulled it out with a sigh and paused, glancing at the number. Not one he recognized. A text from a number he didn't know. He pulled the text up.

_Vatican Cameos _

Relief flooded through him and he only then realized that he'd actually been…concerned. Why was he concerned? She was his wife or would be in future. They had a…he shoved that thought aside, not even sure how he felt about it.

_Rose?_

_-SH_

He sent the text and waited.

Mycroft watched carefully as his brother's entire demeanor changed with the sound of a text. Sherlock became more irritated, but when his brother read the text Sherlock changed once more. Relief. He watched the tension drain out of his brother's shoulders and back. Then he watched Sherlock type out a text and send it. Who was he talking to?

* * *

Rose grinned when the text came back with her name. He knew her. She grinned. That made things a whole lot easier. She was hoping to avoid a lot of unnecessary questions because she wasn't sure how much time she had before one of the men decided to check on them.

"Is it the police?" Bonnie asked.

"Better," she replied, giving the girl a smile before she typed in the directions.

"Who's better than the police?"

"My husband."

* * *

Another chime and Sherlock read her new text.

_R 3m – L 5m – R 37m – L 6m – R 1m – R 5m Cottage._

He grinned.

"Clever girl," he said, as he typed a reply and hit send.

* * *

Sherlock's reply came almost immediately.

_On my way._

_-SH_

She grinned.

"We'll be out of here soon," she said, turning the phone off, least it make a noise when someone came to check on them.

"Are you sure he's going to be able to get us out of here?" Bonnie asked.

"Yep," she replied, popping the 'p.' If there was one constant in her life it was that she knew Sherlock would always come for her. From the first day she meant him.

Now all they had to do was wait.

* * *

Mycroft's brows drew together. He caught the sentiment in his brother's voice. Admiration if he was correct, which he always was. Who was this _clever girl_? What he would give to snatch that phone out of Sherlock's hand, but no matter. He could trace the number once the power was restored.

"Wait," John said, having heard Sherlock's words. "Is that _her_?"

Mycroft's focus turned to the doctor. _Her_? John knew. Wait…before he could voice the question forming in his mind Sherlock walked toward his car.

"I know where they are," the detective announced.

"If you know where they are I can send a team in-" Mycroft began.

"What's the matter, brother dear, afraid of a little leg work?"

"Stop playing games, Sherlock and give me the address," his brother insisted.

Sherlock paused after opened the passenger door and eyed Mycroft over the roof of the car.

"I've seen what your _teams _can do first hand. Snipers, helicopters, which would most likely result in a hostage situation. Care to take that chance with the Ambassador's daughter?"

He knew his brother well enough to know exactly what to say to make Mycroft go along with him. The last thing he wanted was for her…for either of them to get caught up in some situation Mycroft's _team _might create. It would be safer if he and John took care of the three men.

Mycroft smirked, drawing a confused glare from Sherlock.

"Hm. Ever the night slaying dragons," his brother replied.

He rolled his eyes, sliding into the seat, leaving John to sit in back with Mycroft while he gave the driver directions.

John climbed into the back with Sherlock's brother, knowing that no matter how short the trip was, it was definitely going to seem like forever in Mycroft's company. He caught the looks between the two and the way Mycroft watched Sherlock.

The driver started the car and as they pulled out to the right and then headed down the road John tried to turn his focus out the window.

"Who's the damsel then?" Mycroft asked.

"Damsel?" John inquired.

"The damsel in distress. I hear knights go in for that sort of thing."

Rose. John resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," he lied.

"Come now, John, you've never been very good at deception."

He knew even if he had been good at it Mycroft would be able to tell. It was the only way in which he and Sherlock were alike.

"I told you to ask your brother."

Mycroft watched him for a moment. John tried not to shift under the intensity of the man's gaze.

"I only ask because I worry about him," the elder Holmes prodded after a moment.

"There isn't anything for you to worry about," he replied.

"Isn't there?"

A calculating gaze.

"No," John replied, honestly, not sure until that moment about his feelings toward Rose.

The relationship was strange, to say the least. Impossible was a better word, but the woman herself seemed…good, nice, nothing like what he would've ever expected. Not that he had, in fact, ever expected anyone. At least, not after that stint with Janine. Sherlock had shown that he could actually care about someone because his friend had cared for Irene.

"Sherlock seemed…concerned," Mycroft said.

"He's worried about her, that's all," John explained.

"Ah," the elder Holmes said with a smile. "So there is a _her_." _Shit! _"You know what happened to the last woman my brother showed concern for."

"She isn't like that."

Mycroft raised his brow.

"Isn't she?"

"You said yourself, she tried to stop those men from taking that girl. Does that sound like something Irene would do?"

Mycroft seemed to think for a moment.

"No, I suppose not." The man's intense gaze turned back to him. "Who is she?"

"I…" He wasn't going to give Mycroft her name. That was for Sherlock to decide. "I'm not sure."

The elder Holmes eyed him.

"The wife?" Mycroft asked, noting the look of surprise on John's face. A look that told him he was correct in his deduction. He grinned. "Then I suppose it's time I meet my brother's wife."

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	10. Blackout Pt4

This is quite a long one. Hope you enjoy it! :)

* * *

Rose kept track of the time. It took fifty-seven minutes for the van ride, but she knew it would take a bit longer for Sherlock. He wouldn't pull up in a car outside the cottage, which meant he'd get out beyond the trees that surrounded the place.

She glanced at her watch. Five minutes to go. He was close. Probably pulling up somewhere, concealing the car. She doubted he'd take a cab, too many things could go wrong with that scenario, the cabbie turning around next to the cottage being one.

"My husband should be here soon," she said, looking at Bonnie. "But it might get loud and scary so I want you to get under the bed okay?"

She stood up, pulling the girl up with her.

"Why?" Bonnie asked.

"Because it's safer under there."

"Okay." The girl bent down and began sliding under the bed, but she paused, looking at Rose. "What about you?"

"I'll be fine," she said, bending down next to Bonnie.

"But I need you to promise me you'll stay under there, yeah? No matter what you hear, no matter what happens."

"Okay."

* * *

Sherlock crouched in the trees between John and Mycroft, irritated that his brother insisted on coming along. He knew Mycroft's insistence stemmed from his brother's suspicions about Rose, but he wanted to keep the truth of who she was from Mycroft as long as possible. He didn't want that sort of complication. He heard his brother's hiss of irritation.

"Why are we crouching in the…" now a sigh of irritation, "…underbrush."

"It's called leg work, Mycroft," Sherlock snapped in a low voice. "This is precisely why I asked you to stay in the car."

"And leave you on your own?"

There was a reason Mycroft insisted on his presence and Sherlock knew exactly what that reason was.

"You never worried over me before, why the sudden change?"

"I always worry over you."

"Girls," John snapped, loud enough to stop their argument.

If he never worked a case with both Holmes brothers again it would be far too soon. He wasn't sure which one he wanted to punch more. Sherlock turned his attention back to the cottage while Mycroft glared daggers at him, but he ignored that.

"We need a plan," the doctor continued.

"I already have a plan," Sherlock said.

"Let me guess," Mycroft replied. "Go in, guns blazing."

"I'm not an idiot, Mycroft-"

"That's debatable."

Sherlock glared at his brother.

"John will go to the front door and knock, creating a distraction-"

"Me?" John asked. "Why me?"

"I can't do it," Sherlock said.

"Why?"

"All that news coverage over my sudden return from the dead, not to mention the popularity of your blog and the fact that I'm in the tabloids every other week."

"Okay that lets you out, but what about Mycroft."

"Me?" the elder Holmes asked as if that were the most bizarre question he ever heard.

"Too likely they'd shoot him," Sherlock replied, shooting John a grin.

"I suppose you're right," the doctor replied, returning his friend's grin.

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Droll, brother dear."

* * *

Rose was sitting on the bed when the sound of someone knocking on the front door drew her attention.

"Remember what I said," she told Bonnie, who was hiding under the bed as she instructed. "Don't make any noise and stay there no matter what."

The handle of the door on the room moved slightly and she could hear a key being inserted into the lock. This was why she told Bonnie to stay under the bed. A moment later Tom opened the door brandishing her gun. He glanced around the room, closing the door as he entered.

"Where's the girl?" he asked.

"What girl?" Rose inquired, feigning innocence.

"The door was locked. I know she didn't get out." He glanced at the bed and smirked.

"Leave her alone. She's just a little girl," Rose insisted, wanting to stand up and put herself between them, but she didn't want him to know about the phone that she slid under her leg when she heard the door opening.

He gazed over her in a way that made her skin crawl. Then he closed the distance between them and looked down at her.

"What are you going to do for me?" he asked.

She knew exactly what she wanted to do for him, broken arm, femur, at least one black eye, were the immediate things that came to mind. At that moment a gunshot interrupted them. It came from the other side of the closed door.

"Sounds like you've got other things to worry about," she replied with a grin.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her off the bed. The phone dropped to the floor. His eyes snapped from the girl's mobile to her.

"Did you call the police?" he demanded, giving her a shake.

Sherlock was there, probably John too and she'd had about enough of the bastard holding her arm. She struck him in the nose with the palm of her free hand. He cried out, but he didn't drop the gun as she hoped. Instead he pulled back and struck her hard enough to knock her to the floor.

"Bitch," Tom yelled. "I'll kill you for that!"

The side of her head, near her left eye felt like it had been set ablaze, but she pushed the pain aside as he glanced under the bed. Bonnie's eyes were wide and the girl's hands were clamped over her mouth as if she were afraid of accidentally screaming. She heard a gun cock and knew it was Tom.

In the next moment the door burst open and she heard the sound of a gun being fired. For a moment she thought she might've been shot, but she heard Tom yell and she rolled over in time to watch John punch the man, knocking him out.

John turned his attention to her, but she shook her head, sitting up and crawling over to the bed. She reached her hand under and Bonnie took it, crawling out.

"You're bleeding," Bonnie said.

"This?" Rose asked, indicating the gash she knew was there, but being careful not to touch it, least she wince in front of the already frightened child. "'S nothing. This is my friend, John. He's going to take you to see your dad, yeah?"

John gave the girl a smile, but he turned his attention to Rose, worried over the wound above her eye.

"You should let me look at that I'm-"

"A doctor," she grinned. "I know. 'S fine."

"You could have a concussion."

"Take care of her, yeah?"

John sighed, offering the girl his hand. She took it, seeming to accept that he was okay because Rose said he was.

"If you get dizzy let me know."

"I will," a deep voice said from the doorway.

She put her hand on the bed, standing up, a grin already forming. He was beside her in the next moment, taking her arm and began leading her out of the room, but she stopped him next to Tom's unconscious body and bent down, picking up her gun and sliding it into the holster under her coat then rummaged around in his pockets and found her phone. She slid her mobile into her pocket and then took Sherlock's arm following him out of the room. He didn't say anything as he led her down the hall and into a small bath and it made her wonder. Was he upset with her? She wasn't sure where she was in his time stream, but after turning on the light he cupped her cheeks and none of that mattered as she gazed into his eyes.

She watched his eyes examine the gash and then he caught her gaze for a brief moment before turning around and searching for a cloth. It was enough for her to see the concern in his eyes. He wasn't angry with her, he was worried over her. She grinned as he ran the tap, dabbing the cloth in the water.

Sherlock tried to shove the emotions she elicited back into the room, but the moment he saw the gash above her eye all he wanted to do was put another bullet in the bloke who hurt her. He remained quiet after that, sorting through the feelings that nearly overwhelmed him when he first stepped into that room. He wasn't used to any of them, not in this way. It was strange and more than frightening, but his concern for her was stronger than all of that and that was the emotion that held him at the moment.

He tilted her head up by cupping her cheek with one hand and began dabbing at the wound. She winced at first and he paused, feeling a strange compulsion to not want to cause her further pain. He caught her gaze briefly and she grinned, he turned his eyes back to her wound and continued his progress.

"I believe I ought to start carrying a first aid kit," he said, wanting to say something, but unsure, for the first time, what he should say.

She gave a light laugh and he felt himself smiling in response, but he only allowed it for a moment, still unsure how he felt about her and the implications of who she was.

"Jeopardy friendly, that's me," she teased.

He was quiet for a moment. Mulling over her words.

"Is it always like this?" he asked.

"Like what?"

Rose watched him carefully. She could still hear the concern in his voice, but she could tell he was confused and, if she was right, which she usually was when it came to him, he also seemed a bit afraid. He sat the cloth down and then turned back, catching her gaze.

"Life and death," he elaborated.

She grinned, stepping closer to him, grabbing his lapels and catching his gaze.

"It wouldn't be much fun otherwise, yeah?" she teased.

Sherlock watched her closely, gazing into her eyes that, at first, had reminded him of someone he lost, but now made him feel as if he weren't alone. It was a very strange feeling. She was closer to him than she'd ever been and before he knew what he was doing his hands wrapped themselves around her waist as if afraid she might pull away.

"No, I suppose not," he replied, his voice coming out low.

She grinned in a way he'd never seen before. His eyes widened as the control he prided himself on slipped. He felt his pulse speed up. How was she able to do that? Produce one grin that made his control slip that much? He didn't even realize he was smiling for a good half a minute, which was quite a long time to him.

At that moment the sound of Mycroft clearing his throat interrupted them. Sherlock rolled his eyes. The last thing he wanted was for his brother to find out about her. He knew it would happen eventually, since she told him Mycroft had asked about her ability to travel in time, but he was hoping to put it off as long as possible.

Mycroft had stood in the doorway long enough to observe the way his brother held the woman and gazed at her. He wasn't sure if it was, he nearly shuddered, _love, _but it was something. When it looked as if they might actually kiss, something he didn't at all want to be present for he decided to announce his presence.

The woman glanced at him, pulling back and he watched his brother grudgingly allow it. He gave her a tight smile about to introduce himself when she gave him a bright smile…one that actually seemed genuine.

"Mike," she exclaimed, as if she were actually happy to see him and, in fact, knew him.

Before he could question her she not only stepped over to him, but actually invaded his space and…Why the hell was she hugging him? He had no idea what to do. His mind actually halting for the first time in his life. That only lasted for a moment, but by the time he regained his ability to think she stepped back, still smiling.

At first Sherlock wasn't entirely sure what Rose was doing, but then she did something that no one ever did, well, no one outside their mother. She actually hugged his brother and not as a lark. He couldn't help laughing at the look on his brother's face which was akin to someone being mauled by a large animal. For the first time Mycroft looked as if he didn't know what to do.

Then she released his brother and Sherlock couldn't help another chuckle from escaping as Mycroft smoothed his ruffled feathers. His brother shot him a disdainful glare.

"It seems my dear brother has told you about me," Mycroft said, trying to regain his composure. "But I'm afraid you've found me at a disadvantage."

_Bullocks! _Mycroft didn't know her. She couldn't help almost laughing as she wondered what he must be thinking about her. Probably thought she was a nutter. Well, that would change.

"I'm Rose," she said. "Rose-"

"Holmes," Mycroft interrupted, wanting to regain the upper hand.

He was rewarded by the slight widening of her eyes. Very slight and only lasting a moment. She was good. Careful. Sherlock crossed the room to stand beside her, but he didn't even give his little brother a glance, focusing his attention on her.

"Sounds like you're not as disadvantaged as you claim," she replied, grinning to let him know that although he surprised her he hadn't thrown her.

"No ring then," Mycroft noted, glancing at her hand. "Must be a very progressive marriage."

Sherlock glanced at her hand, not having noticed her lack of ring and chastising himself for allowing his brother to be the first to notice this new information.

"Right," Rose replied, remembering that she hadn't retrieved it yet and reaching down her shirt front, making both Sherlock and Mike's eyes widen while the elder Holmes made a startled choking noise, which made her laugh as she pulled the ring out and slipped it back on her finger. "Couldn't have anything happen to it."

"Yes. Well. A bit of modesty-" Mycroft began, but stopped as his eyes actually fell on the ring. Their grandmother's wedding ring.

Sherlock noted the way his brother eyed the ring. He knew Mycroft was drawing multiple conclusions and would, most likely, want answers, answers he wanted to find first.

"If you don't mind, Mycroft," Sherlock said, putting his arm around Rose's shoulder and drawing her closer…for appearance of course. His brother thought they were married after all. Well, they were, but they weren't yet. He dropped that train of thought before it threatened to swallow him. "Rose has been through enough for one evening."

"Quite right," Mycroft replied. He could always question her later. "Take my car. I'll have the driver return after he drops you. Oh, and don't forget John."

Sherlock nodded, leading Rose away from his brother and out of the cottage and as he did so one of her arms wove around his waist. He glanced at her, but she appeared to be looking around.

"John," she called and he glanced over to where she was looking.

His friend caught sight of them and walked over. He noted the confused look John wore as he took in the way they were walking together, but he chose to ignore that. He couldn't drop the act in case his brother was still watching.

"You should probably wait until we're back at Baker Street before you…go anywhere," he said.

"'S what I was thinking too," she replied.

When they reached the car he opened the door for her before climbing in beside her, leaving John to ride in the front, but he caught his friend's smirk before he closed the door, making him roll his eyes.

"Bonnie will be all right, yeah?" Rose asked the moment he closed the door.

"Bonnie?" he inquired, not entirely sure who she was referring to.

"The little girl," she prompted.

Of course she was asking about the little girl. Rose seemed to worry over everyone else. Everything about the woman radiated sentiment, something he had never been entirely comfortable with.

"Mycroft will return her to her parents. I'm sure there will be some residual psychological effects, but according to John therapy does wonders," he replied.

For some reason this made her chuckle and he glanced at her wondering why she was laughing.

Rose caught the change. This was him before she met him, he was young, well, technically at the moment they were probably nearly the same age, but he was young to her. He knew her, but not that well. He was still trying to understand her, understand who she was.

"That's why you have such trouble with names," she said, reaching up with her hand and brushing at the front of his hair. The light brush of her fingers across his forehead nearly immobilizing him. She grinned, her hand coming back with a small leaf held in her fingers. She dropped it on the floor of the car and then caught his gaze, grin still in place. "Most brilliant man in the universe. Head's too full of stuff."

He was unable to stop himself from smiling at her comment and when she laid her head in the crook of his shoulder a moment later his arm wrapped around her shoulders, almost as if it had a mind of its own. She was tired. Probably emotionally drained from the day, although he doubted she'd admit that, well, maybe to him.

"It'll be at least an hour before we arrive at Baker Street," he said. "You should rest."

"Mm, not tired," she mumbled, already close to sleep and he almost chuckled, but stopped himself at the last minute.

How was she able to do that to him? He glanced at her, but her eyes were closed.

"Mmm," he hummed instead, in that way he did with John when his friend tried to argue, but he knew he was correct in his deduction.

"Mm, not," she mumbled quietly as if she knew exactly what he was thinking, drawing another glance from him.

Her cheek shifted on his shoulder a moment as she drew closer to him, her arm winding around his waist and under his coat. He froze. His eyes widening for a moment. Her hand was on his waist, on his shirt, their skin wasn't actually touching, but it still elicited a feeling of intimacy. He glanced at her again, but she was sleeping. After a moment he relaxed, well, as much as he could given the situation.

* * *

The car stopped first at John and Mary's flat to drop his friend off. John climbed out of the driver seat, but Sherlock didn't want to wake Rose so he put the window down. John glanced at him and then smirked.

"Shut up, John," he snapped, knowing exactly why his friend was smirking.

"I didn't say anything," John protested.

"You didn't have to."

Now a grin. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Right. Well, I suppose I ought to leave you two alone."

Sherlock sighed at his friend's mirth.

"You'll be over tomorrow?" he asked, choosing to ignore it.

John quirked his brow the smile becoming a smirk again.

"You sure you'll be up for it?"

"Why wouldn't I be…" he trailed off as his friend glanced at Rose, making him glance at her and as if on cue she shifted, her hand tightening on his waist, making his eyes widen again. He heard his friend chuckle and he turned his gaze on John, glaring. "Shut up," he snapped, putting the window up before John could continue his amused, completely improper, deductions.

"Idiot," he spat as he car pulled out.

"Mm," Rose mumbled, drawing his attention. "What'd Sally do now?"

Sally…Donovan. He almost grinned, but stopped himself, John's amusement still fresh in his mind.

"It was John," he replied, not even sure why he was replying, since he was fairly sure she was still sleeping.

Wait. He glanced at her. Talking in her sleep?

"'S not nice," she mumbled, but she was smiling slightly as if she knew he didn't really mean it.

With her subconscious in control if he were careful he might be able to get the answers he sought. Who was she, not her name or who she was to him, but who was she before? Where did she come from? Where did that device come from? How was it able to make her travel in time? When did they meet? Why was she so interwoven into his life? Why _his_? Was someone behind it? And those were just the immediate questions.

"Rose?" he asked, whispering as he bent his head close.

"Mm," she replied.

"Do you remember how we met?"

She smiled in her sleep and it made him want to respond in kind, but he held his smile back. He was trying to get answers. Sentiment would only complicate matters.

"You saved me." She snuggled closer, but he ignored that. "You always save me."

"Saved you from whom?"

Her brows drew together, her hand on his waist fisting his shirt.

"I…can't," she replied, her voice coming out almost in a gasp and he could hear the fear.

It was the first time he heard fear in her voice and it gave him pause. Even when she was dying she hadn't betrayed any hint of fear. His hand instinctively tightened on her shoulder. He didn't like hearing that emotion in her voice and he was confused by the desire to protect her it elicited in him.

"Where are your parents?" he asked, grabbing the first question that came to mind in his desire to get as far from both of those emotions as possible.

Her brow was still creased, but her hand relaxed on his shirt.

"Gone," she replied, not with fear this time, but the heavy weight of loss.

That desire to protect her was still present. _Bloody hell! _Before he could try another question the car stopped. He glanced out the window. Baker Street. Brilliant. He sighed.

"Rose," he said, a bit louder. She shifted, but didn't wake. He gave her shoulder a slight shake. "Rose." A bit louder this time.

She opened her eyes, focusing them on his first and her face lit with a sleepy smile that he allowed himself to return, briefly.

"We've arrived," he continued.

She glanced out the window. Blinking for a moment as the sleepiness dissipated.

"Home then," she said.

So they still lived at Baker Street, even after they were married and had a…he still wasn't ready to allow that thought. He opened the door and helped her out.

She took his arm as they walked to the door and waited while he unlocked it. It took her a minute to remember where she was and when she was. That she was with him, but past him. She climbed the stairs and followed him into their flat, well, she glanced around, _his _flat at the moment. At that moment the lights came on.

"Tea?" he asked, drawing her gaze and she couldn't help grinning.

"I should probably go," she said and noted the bit of unhappiness that settled over him.

"You have a time travel device-"

"Vortex Manipulator," she corrected.

"Vortex Manipulator," he tested out the word.

"I suppose a cuppa wouldn't hurt," she said as she removed her coat, having already decided to stay a few minutes because of the look he wore.

A slight smile ghosted over his lips and she grinned, following him into the kitchen and watched him fill the kettle.

"Might I ask where you acquired the…Vortex Manipulator?" he inquired.

She never could lie to him, but she had to be careful. She knew he was fishing for information, information she'd gladly give him, but she knew if she told him too much too soon she might change things and she couldn't chance that.

"I helped develop it," she explained, earning a surprised glance from him as he put the kettle on. She gave him a teasing grin. "Why's that surprising?"

He knew she was clever, but helping to develop a time travel device. He hadn't expected that, but he didn't believe she was lying.

"I wasn't expecting that," he replied, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms as he gazed at her.

"It's one of the things I'm experienced in."

He raised his brow.

"Time travel?"

"Yep," she replied, popping the 'p' in a way he found charming and then immediately banished that feeling.

"Who else worked on it?"

"My team at the…company I used to work for."

"But you don't work for them any longer?"

"No, we were…separated."

"Separated?"

"I can't get into that."

"Why?"

"Future knowledge. It can be dangerous. It can change things." She caught the confusion in his eyes. "To you this, now, is present, but to me it's the past. Knowing something you shouldn't know yet could change things."

"Then it is possible to change the past," he replied.

Something in the way he said that worried her. Their lives had always been intertwined. On one hand she had her life with him and Ally, but on the other hand they had their jumbled up life. The bit with her future being his past. Would he actually try to change that? But she knew the answer. If he thought her life was in danger he wouldn't hesitate. He would try to save her and damn the consequences. She had to put a stop to that.

Rose surprised him by stepping into his space and taking his hands. She caught his gaze.

"The past isn't a straight line. It twists and turns and changing something, no matter how much you want to, no matter how right you think it is can have horrible consequences." He still seemed disbelieving so she continued. "When I was little I lost my dad. He was hit by a car and died. After I started traveling in time I went back to see him because my mum told me the story of how he died alone and I didn't want him to die alone. I wanted to be there for him, only, when I saw the car I couldn't let it happen so I…" she sighed and he could see the pain in her deep hazel eyes. He felt a compulsion to hold her…comfort her, but he held his control, focusing on her words. "I saved him and I thought I was doing something right. Saving someone. I knew how dangerous it was to change things, but he was just one person so I didn't see the harm, but by saving him I almost killed everyone, him included." She paused, tears in the corner of her eyes and at that moment his control slipped as he pulled her close and held her, confused by his own actions, but unable to stop himself. She continued her story after a moment, cheek pressed against his chest. "In the end I lost him. The only way to save everyone was for him to be hit by the car because that was what my friend called a _fixed point_. Something that was meant to happen."

She sighed and a moment later reached up and he knew she was wiping the tears away.

"So, even with time travel you can't save anyone?" he resigned.

She pulled back, catching his gaze.

"I didn't say that, but it's complicated. I saved my friend, Jack once and there was a price, there always is, but no one else died, well, no one that didn't deserve it, but I think that either had to do with the way I did it or the fact that he wasn't in his proper time."

"Your friend was a time traveler too," he deduced.

"Yep."

At that moment the kettle boiled and she stepped back. He turned around and set to work making their tea as he mulled over her words. He watched her die, but it happened in the past, not in her proper time. Did that mean he could save her? Possibly, but he'd have to work out a way that would also keep him and John alive because if he died he wouldn't be there to save her. The memory of her fear solidifying his resolve.

She stayed long enough to finish her tea, but after that she retrieved her coat. He followed her feeling a weight already beginning to settle that the loss of her presence would bring. His rational mind tried to insist that he hardly knew her, having only met her three times, but to him he'd known her for months.

She punched in a sequence of numbers that he now knew would take her home, back to him. He felt a slight twinge of jealousy and immediately tried to work out where the hell that came from and why he felt jealous of himself, which he was sure John would have a lengthy conversation over. He shoved that aside as she caught his gaze, grinning.

He took a step toward her, but stopped. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as they shifted, lifting slightly, involuntarily, in his desire to…what? Hug her, touch her one last time before she was gone. He would see her again, he knew that and that's what he told himself to hold onto his control.

"When will I see you again?" he asked, mirroring the same question he asked last time.

"I'll text you," she replied and in the next moment she pushed the button, vanishing from his sight with that electrical zapping sound.

He stepped into the space she just vacated and stood there a moment. Her scent lingering around him. He knew he was being sentimental, but there wasn't anyone around to see that. He closed his eyes, picturing her. There was a chance he could save her and there was still time. She died in his past, but her body vanished, had vanished in the same manner she did when she traveled in time. Somehow he would find a way.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	11. Mycroft

It had been no less than three days. THREE DAYS. During which Mycroft waited for Rose to show herself outside of Baker Street, but he hadn't seen so much as a whisper of blonde hair when he looked at the camera feed, which, to be honest, was more often than he usually spent on the project that was his brother. There were people though, his people, always watching and they remained silent, something that told him she hadn't been seen by any of them.

Sherlock had come and gone nine times. Two on his own and seven with John, telling him his brother was working a case. Two packages arrived, both for Mrs. Hudson. One was a supply of what she referred to as _herbal soothers_ and the other was a small collectable statuette she ordered from the telly.

Mary arrived once to drive John home. Other than that, nothing. Sherlock must be trying to keep Rose from him. No matter. He had his own ways in which to learn information and if it came down to it he could stop by, unannounced of course. Throwing his brother off was something he took particular pleasure in.

He picked up his phone, loathing the call he was about to place. He sighed in irritation as he hit the talk button and waited through three rings before the other end was picked up.

"Mike?" his mother asked, sounding a bit out of breath and for a moment concern seized him as he recalled her age, the high blood pressure medication she was taking, and the fact that her cholesterol count had been a bit high after her last physical.

"Are you all right, mother?" he asked, the words coming out before he knew what he was saying.

"I'm fine, Mike. Why?"

"You sound out of breath. Should I call someone? Are you experienceing any pain?"

She laughed.

"I'm fine. Really. Your father was just-"

"Yes. Right," he cut in, knowing where that train of thought led and wanting to derail it before he learned exactly what his parents had been doing on their own. The concern vanishing as quickly as smoke in the wind. "I phoned about Sherlock."

"Sherlock?" she asked, the concern evident in her voice, making him roll his eyes. "Has something happened? Is he all right? Your father and I can catch the next train. He isn't in hospital again is he?"

She always did worry over his brother.

"No, mother, he's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I assure you." He paused for a moment while she collected herself. "I wondered what you knew about his wife?"

He hadn't gone to his parents before because he avoided conversing with them and he knew his mother would draw out this sort of conversation, wanting to launch into all the little details, details he didn't need. A name, Rose's maiden name, that's all he needed.

There was a pause as he was greeted by silence for a moment.

"Wife?" she asked and he could tell from her tone that she knew nothing about this wife.

After seeing the ring on Rose's finger he assumed his mother would know. Surely she wouldn't have simply handed over the ring without an explanation.

"Yes."

A bit of a pause.

"Wife?"

He rolled his eyes at her repetition.

"Yes, mother, wife. I assumed you knew about her."

"Are you sure?"

"She was wearing the ring," he revealed, as if that should silence her doubts.

"Ring? What ring?"

He sighed.

"Grandmother's wedding ring."

Another pause and then…she laughed. His brow drew together. Why was she laughing?

"What's so amusing?" he inquired a bit of irritation creeping into his voice.

"I think he's having fun with you, Mike."

"Sorry?"

"He borrowed grandmother's ring a few months back."

"And you allowed him to?" he inquired, feeling put out that his brother had gotten one up on him. "You know his history, mother. I can't believe you-"

"Mike," she said, her tone halting his tirade. "He's come a long way since then and, in his defense, he was true to his word. Returned it about a week later without so much as a nick."

"A week later?" he asked, but Rose had been wearing it three days ago.

A copy? Perhaps. It made sense, but at the same time it didn't. Why would Sherlock go to the trouble of creating a copy? Not merely for Mycroft's benefit. And he was sure John actually believed Rose was Sherlock's wife. Was it a ruse? But why?

He thought back to the moment he saw them together. They appeared to genuinely care about each other. Were they in fact married? There was too little information for him to make a proper deduction. Without her maiden name he couldn't dig into her past. The only people who appeared to know her were Sherlock and John, but…wait. Rose had gone into Baker Street, but she hadn't come out, which meant she must still be there. Perhaps it was time he paid Sherlock a little visit.

* * *

It wasn't until the next afternoon that Mycroft arrived at Baker Street, choosing to wait until Sherlock left so as to question Rose without his brother's presence. He rang the bell and waited impatiently until Mrs. Hudson answered.

"Mycroft," she greeted in that motherly tone that always grated on his nerves. "I'm afraid Sherlock's out."

"That's quite all right, Mrs. Hudson," he replied, stepping inside. "I can wait until his return."

"I'm afraid I'm not sure when he'll be back," she said, closing the door, but looking as if she wasn't entirely happy that he insisted on staying.

He ignored that as he walked over to the stairs and started up. Sherlock must have warned Mrs. Hudson to keep him away from Rose, well, he certainly wasn't going to let an aged woman keep him from learning about her.

"I'm sure I can entertain myself until he returns." He heard her follow him up the stairs. "In the meantime you can make a pot of tea."

"I'm not his-"

"Housekeeper," he finished as he reached the door. "Yes, I recall."

He opened the door and stepped inside, pausing at the threshold as his eyes scanned the room. Empty. His eyes traveled to the kitchen, but he couldn't hear any movement. Was she asleep? It was afternoon.

"Are you going to stand in the doorway?" Mrs. Hudson asked. He stepped into the room and allowed her to pass him. "Your mother has a lot to answer for," she continued as she walked into the kitchen.

"Yes. I have a file," he replied, offhandedly as he stepped around the room.

He hadn't been by in the last few months, but it seemed the same. No trace of a woman's touch. No articles of clothing, nothing at all that would point to her presence. He found his way into the kitchen, pausing for a moment as his eyes trained on Sherlock's bedroom door at the end of the hall.

"How has my brother been lately?" he continued.

"Fine. Well, fine for him. You know how he is," she replied offhandedly as she pulled down the tray and began putting everything together.

"Nothing…out of the ordinary?" he pressed.

Mrs. Hudson paused, turning to him and he could see that, yes, there was something.

"Well, now that you mention it he has been a bit…different."

He raised his brow.

"Different? In what way?"

"Lately he hasn't been yelling as much, you know how he can do that sometimes." She glanced at him and he hummed his understanding. "And he hasn't fired his gun at the wall once, even when there's a lull in cases, hasn't asked about his cigarettes either. Instead, I usually find him lost in thought, you know like he gets sometimes."

Mycroft mulled that over while she turned back to putting the tea in order.

"So, he seems calmer?" he inquired, glancing at the closed bedroom door again.

"Yes, I suppose that would be the way to put it."

She filled the pot with hot water from the kettle and then picked up the tray. He, reluctantly, followed her into the other room, taking a seat in his brother's chair. He waited while she made him a cup.

"He's asked me the strangest things too. Strange for Sherlock that is," she revealed, handing his tea over.

He glanced at her, raising his brow.

"Do tell," he said and then took a drink while she sat in the chair across from him.

"He asked what I meant when I told him that marriage changes people."

He nearly spit the tea out as he took a drink. He coughed for a moment before he regained control of himself.

"Sorry?" he inquired, eyeing her.

"It was something I said when John and Mary were getting married."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him that it creates a bond between two people, connecting them." He scoffed at the idea. "It's a gesture of love. A way for them to say that they couldn't think of being with anyone else."

"If I recall, your husband was in fact a notorious cheat, was he not?" Mycroft asked.

"Mycroft Holmes," she shouted, jumping to her feet. "If you're going to-"

"My apologies, Mrs. Hudson," he said, realizing she was about to storm out of the room and possibly demand that he leave. "That was uncalled for."

"I'll say," she replied, but seemed to settle, resuming her seat.

"This was before the wedding then," he deduced.

"No, it was after John and Mary's wedding."

"I'm referring to Sherlock and Rose's wedding, of course."

She stared at him, completely dumbfounded.

"I'm sorry?"

He gazed at her a moment. She had no idea what he was talking about, but she must. Rose was staying there.

"Did my brother fail to mention that he and Rose were married?"

"Sherlock married?" she laughed. Why was she laughing? "You must be joking."

"You must have noticed the ring," he replied, then again she was thick, like all the other goldfish.

"What are you talking about?"

"The one Rose wears."

"Rose? Rose who?"

He rolled his eyes.

"The woman who's been living here."

She shook her head laughing.

"There's no woman living here with Sherlock."

"Fine then, staying here."

"There's no one else staying here. I'm not sure where you're getting your information, Mycroft Holmes, but someone's been having fun with you."

That was it. He'd had about enough of this little game, whatever it was. He sat his tea down and stood up, striding through the room, the kitchen, and down the hall. He opened the door to Sherlock's room with a protesting Mrs. Hudson following him. It was empty. He glanced around, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that pointed to another presence.

"I told you there's no one else here."

John's old room. He walked to the stairs and hurried up, reaching the door and opening it. Another empty room and this one obviously devoid of an inhabitant. She was there. She had to be there. He'd gone through the camera feed. There were people watching the flat. She hadn't left. He was sure of that. Where the hell was she?

* * *

Sherlock arrived home about an hour later, having gone to Lestrade's office to fill out a report that he'd been putting off. He opened the door to find Mycroft sitting in his chair. Brilliant. He'd been expecting this, was actually surprised that it took his brother four days to show up.

"Mycroft," he greeted, removing his coat and scarf to hang them by the door.

"Sherlock," his brother replied, a slight grin slipping into place, making him roll his eyes.

He ignored the tea Mrs. Hudson must have provided and sat down in John's chair, eyeing Mycroft. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. Since the moment Rose left he'd been waiting on her text knowing it could come any second, although it would most likely be a month or more before he saw her again.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he inquired lacing his words with sarcasm.

"I wanted to see how you were getting on. I know how marriage can change people," Mycroft replied before taking a drink of his tea.

He'd been talking to Mrs. Hudson, which meant he knew not only that Rose wasn't there, but that his landlady hadn't seen her and, in fact, didn't have any idea who she was.

"As you can see, brother mine, nothing's changed."

Mycroft raised his brow at Sherlock's warning. His brother was telling him to stay out of this, but he could hardly do that. There was something going on and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

"Yes, I can see," Mycroft replied with a slight smile.

Sherlock eyed his brother. Mycroft had gone through his flat. His brother knew Rose wasn't merely out, but that there was no trace of her. He knew Mycroft watched his flat, probably had people on his flat, which meant his brother hadn't seen her leave, no one would've seen her leave.

"If that's all you came for-" Sherlock began, sitting up.

"Who is she?" Mycroft inquired, dropping the charade.

"I thought you already knew that."

"The wife. Yes," his brother smirked. "Trouble is there's no evidence of that. No marriage certificate. No evidence of a ceremony. The only people who seem to know her are you and John."

"You've met her."

"Met her, yes, but I don't know her. You haven't even introduced her to our parents."

Sherlock's eyes snapped to Mycroft's. The elder Holmes smirked.

"You phoned mother?"

"Rose did have the ring. I assumed you told mother why you wanted it."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. His brother knew, well, he didn't know exactly, but he had suspicions.

"I'm not sure why you made a copy," Mycroft continued. Sherlock relaxed. His brother thought it was a copy. Of course Mycroft thought it was a copy. "But I will find out what sort of trouble you're in, although it would be a lot easier if you'd simply tell me."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I'm not in trouble, Mycroft."

"Of course you are. Wherever there's a woman there's trouble, especially for you."

Sherlock stood up then, not wanting to keep on with this conversation. His brother was fishing and he wasn't about to let Mycroft catch anything. He walked over and picked up his violin. It was the quickest way to get his brother to leave.

Mycroft could see that Sherlock wasn't going to reveal any more information. His brother was avoiding. He sat his tea down and stood up, but paused a moment as Sherlock began to play. The piece was new. Something his brother composed or was composing. He listened a moment, hearing in the piece everything he needed to know about his brother's state. He glanced at Sherlock's back before turning and walking out the door.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	12. Wrong Place Wrong Time Pt1

Sherlock made their morning coffee. Something he knew Rose needed after the night they had. Ally was down with a cold, though she would likely feel better this morning, but Rose spent the night worrying over her and no amount of logic on his part could stop his wife's instance on mothering their daughter, but then that's who Rose was. She took care of people. She made them better, it's what she'd done for him. He couldn't help smiling.

He knew who he'd be without her. The man he'd been before. The man who was alone. Oh, he had John and Mary, but it wasn't the same. He used to pretend that he didn't need anyone, that he was all right on his own, but he wasn't. There were still times that he didn't believe he deserved her, but she would banish those thoughts with a word or a touch. That was Rose.

She stepped into the kitchen from the hall, drawing his attention. He turned around with a smile. He took in her clothes. Red tank top, jeans, trainers, hair clipped up in the front and hanging loose in the back. She was beautiful, but it was her tank top that gave him pause. New, but he'd seen it before. He would never forget the day he saw her in it.

"Is that my cuppa?" she asked, walking toward him.

He glanced down, having forgotten he was holding in, losing himself in the memory for a moment.

"Yep," he replied, popping the 'p' in a way that always earned him a smile.

She took the cup and he turned around to grab his own.

"John said she should feel better this morning."

"I told you she would, luv" he replied, unable to resist touching the tip of her nose because she was so close and because it always made her nose wrinkle in a way he found adorable.

"You could've gone to bed."

"I appear to have lost the ability to sleep on my own," he said, giving her a smile as he wove a hand around her waist to pull her closer.

"I could get you one of those big pillows," she teased, gazing into his eyes.

At that moment they were interrupted by the sound of feet hurrying down the stairs and then Ally raced into the room. He released his hold on Rose and leaned back against the counter while she walked over to their daughter, feeling the girl's forehead and then her cheeks.

"Feel better?" she asked.

"Much," Ally replied, practically hopping in place, making her long dark curls bounce. He grinned. "There's cereal, yeah?"

"Yep," Rose replied.

"Brilliant!"

Alley hopped up in the chair…literally. Rose watched her with a grin. She had the same energy as her dad. Rose pulled down a bowl and set to work on the cereal. She watched Sherlock head for the living room.

"Oi," she called. He paused, mid-step and turned around. "Where do you think you're going?"

She raised her brow. He immediately went over everything that had transpired in the last twenty four hours because she had _that _look. The _you forgot something important _look.

"Um…chair?" he asked, knowing better than to state anything while she was looking at him like that.

"Mary's party."

"That's not for hours."

She rolled her eyes, reinforcing his theory that he was missing something.

"Yes, but I have that _thing _to do first."

"Thing?" He tried to recall what _thing _she could be referring to and then he remembered. "Mary's present."

At that Ally perked up.

"Are you going shopping? Can I come? I want to pick something out too and a dress. Can I get a dress for the party?"

He realized his mistake too late.

"Of course," Sherlock said, stepping back into the room. "How about after breakfast you get dressed and I'll take you down to the shops?"

"What about mum?"

"Mum has some errands to run before she does her shopping. You don't want to waste time with all that boring nonsense, do you?" he inquired, glancing at Rose and receiving a grin.

"What kind of errands?" Ally asked, glancing at Rose.

"The bank, the insurance office," she began listing all the places their daughter hated to go.

"I'd rather go with dad," the girl interrupted.

Rose shrugged her shoulders.

"Suit yourself."

Sherlock crossed the room and walked down the hall a ways with Rose, making sure they were out of Ally's earshot.

"You forgot," she accused.

"Misplaced the information," he replied.

She grinned.

"Nice save though."

He knew what she was planning and he never liked her using that device because every time she did he was one step closer to losing her. He'd been working on a plan for the past seven years. All the pieces weren't in place yet, but he was close.

He knew Mary would be happy with whatever Rose bought her, but she mentioned an item of jewelry that her mother bought her when she was young, something she always thought she would give to her daughter, but she left it behind with everything else from her past. Rose wanted to buy her one, but found that they stopped making them twenty years ago, which didn't stop her.

"Promise me you'll be careful," he said, catching her gaze.

"I'm always careful and if anything happens you're always there," she replied, giving him a grin.

He returned her smile forcing the memory of her death aside as he always did when they were together because he couldn't tell her. He almost did, once, but she stopped him. By then the thought of losing anyone else wasn't as frightening as the prospect of losing her, but then by saving her he would still lose her, which was what gave him the idea for the plan.

He pulled her in for a kiss, just one, just in case because time wasn't a straight line and if there's one thing she taught him, it was that anything was possible when it came to _his impossible girl_.

* * *

Rose pulled on a jean jacket, similar to the one she used to own. Then she grabbed the gun and slid it into her back waistband. She still wasn't entirely thrilled with carrying a weapon, but events, ones she didn't like to think about, taught her that sometimes they were necessary. Murderers and serial killers were far more dangerous than aliens.

She slid back the sleeve of her jacket and punched in the destination and date. Then she hit the button. The familiar sensation passed over her and a moment later she found herself standing in…a closet. Brilliant.

She opened the door and stepped out. The first thing she noticed was the body, but before she had time to react the door burst open and four officers entered with weapons drawn.

"Oh, bollocks!"

* * *

Sherlock walked through the door followed by John. He began removing his coat, but at that moment his phone chimed announcing a text. He pulled it out, hoping as he always did whenever he received a text that it was her. He was rewarded by an address and her name. He grinned.

"Come on, John," he said, shrugging back into his coat.

"We just got here," John protested.

"And now we're leaving," he replied, opening the door.

He heard his friend sigh, but ignored it as he hurried down the stairs. It'd only been two weeks since he saw her last, but it felt like a lot longer, probably because he lived on the edge of hope every time he received a text, but none of them had been from her. He wasn't sure what sort of danger she was in this time, but none of that mattered.

He hailed the first cab and hurried John inside then climbed in closing the door. He gave the cabbie the address and turned his attention out the window while he waited.

John watched Sherlock for a minute. At first he thought it was another case, even though they just wrapped one up. Sherlock wasn't beyond taking them back to back, hating that lull between cases, although his friend had been less like that lately.

"Is it her?" John asked.

"Yes," Sherlock replied without looking at him, but he could hear the hope in his friend's voice.

He smiled. Good. She was good for him, although he did wish their relationship was a bit more normal, but then with Sherlock nothing was ever normal. He doubted his friend would be happy with a normal relationship. Probably find it boring.

* * *

"Drop your weapon," one of the officers insisted.

She rolled her eyes as she dropped her phone.

"It's just my mobile, not a weapon."

Instead of replying the officer ordered the others to watch her while he walked over and began frisking her. He, of course, found her gun. At that moment a man she recognized entered the room.

"Greg," she sighed in relief.

He glanced at her and she could tell that he didn't have any idea who she was. Brilliant. The officer who frisked her, pulled out a pair of cuffs.

"I didn't do anything," she protested.

"Um…" Greg turned his attention to the officer. "What do we have?"

"When we entered the residence she was standing over the body, sir," the bloke answered.

"I was _not_ standing over the body," Rose protested. "I was standing here and I'm clearly over a meter away from the body."

"She had a weapon," the officer replied, handing Greg the gun.

"And that woman," she said, nodding toward the body. "Was clearly stabbed. I can see three knife wounds from here." Greg glanced from the body to her. "Did I have a knife? No. There isn't one drop of blood on my clothes. Look," she glanced down at her trainers. "White shoes, no blood. Mind telling me how that's possible if I killed her?"

"You could have wore something over your clothes," the officer replied, clearly unhappy that she able to shoot so many holes in his assumption.

"Okay. Where is it?"

"You could have disposed of it."

"Blimey, I must be an idiot if I took the time to dispose of the evidence and then returned to the scene of the crime," she replied sarcastically.

"Then what were you doing here?" Greg asked.

I was aiming for a shopping mall about nine years in the past and my Vortex Manipulator got the date and address mixed up. Yeah, probably not the best idea.

"Wrong place wrong time," she tried.

"Lestrade," Sherlock called, his voice carrying through the flat and over the drone of other officers.

Rose grinned as she watched him stride through the room with John following. Greg's head snapped around, eyes training on the detective.

"Sherlock? What're you doing here?" Lestrade asked.

"Mind telling me what you think you're doing?" Sherlock snapped.

"Rose?" John inquired.

"Wait," Greg said. "Do you two know her?"

"Of course we do. She's Sherlock's wife."

_Bloody hell. _Rose could see John realize his mistake, but it was already out. Sherlock seemed unfazed, but Greg looked as if his eyes might actually pop out of his head. Rose couldn't help laughing.

"Wife?" Greg asked, as if he'd never heard the word before.

"Yes, wife," Sherlock snapped. "Now, are you going to tell me exactly what you think you're charging her with because I know it can't be that woman's murder since she was clearly stabbed three times by a man and Rose is clearly not a man nor does she have one drop of blood on her person."

She couldn't help grinning, as she always did when he was being brilliant. He was holding his smile back, but she caught the softening of his eyes when his gaze briefly met hers.

"A man?" the officer inquired, as if he didn't believe the detective.

"Since you've clearly failed to notice the scent of cheap cologne might I point out the half smoked cigar in the ashtray, men's dress jacket on the back of the sofa, and two wine glasses on the coffee table one with traces of lipstick matching the shade on the deceased and the other without," Sherlock impatiently explained, pointing out everything during his explanation.

"That doesn't mean-"

"All right," Greg interrupted. "Un-cuff her."

"What?" the officer asked, making no move to follow through.

"You heard me," the inspector growled.

The officer made no further argument as he un-cuffed her hands and then walked away.

"Thank you," she said, giving Greg a smile.

"I'd still like to know what you were doing here, for the record."

"Perhaps, Greg," Sherlock said, catching the inspector's gaze. "She wasn't here at all."

"Sorry?" Lestrade asked.

"For the record."

It took Greg a moment to realize what Sherlock was asking him to do.

"I…I don't know about that, Sherlock," the inspector replied. "Four of my officers have seen her."

"I'm sure you could come up with something. After all the work I've done for the Yard," Sherlock pressed.

Greg sighed.

"Just this once," the inspector said.

"Yes. Of course."

Greg shook his head with a grin, eyeing Sherlock.

"Wife?" The detective rolled his eyes, but the inspector ignored that turning his gaze to Rose. "I'm DI Greg Lestrade, but I suspect you already knew that the way you recognized me."

"I've seen your picture in the paper," she said, not really a lie since she had in fact seen him in the paper. "I know you're his friend."

She glanced at Sherlock who was watching them guardedly.

"Mentioned me has he?" Greg asked.

"Of course."

"Good things I hope?"

She gave Greg a smile.

"Mostly."

"Yes, well, if you're quite finished," Sherlock interrupted, wanting to get Rose back to the flat before Mycroft's prying eyes could spot her. "We should be going."

"Right," Lestrade said. "It was nice meeting you." Then he seemed to remember something. "Oh," he pulled the gun out the other officer had taken from her. "You'll probably be wanting this back."

"Thank you, Greg," she said, sliding the gun back into her holster and then retrieving her phone from the floor where she dropped it.

Sherlock took her arm before she could start up another conversation and lead her outside.

John followed the couple…_couple, _he couldn't help grinning at that. A word he never thought he'd use to describe Sherlock and anyone else. He knew they had a strange relationship, had thought about it a few times, but it never really hit him how strange it was until he saw her in that flat. He was able to clearly see how much younger she was. The faint laugh lines that had been around her eyes the last time he saw her were gone. _Time travel. _He didn't want to believe it, but it was the only thing that made sense.

Although the lines could be explained away with plastic surgery John was a medical doctor and he could tell, could see the other characteristics that marked her as being younger. A few years shy of Sherlock this time.

Sherlock hailed a cab and held the door as Rose climbed inside, but before he could climb in after her John stopped him.

"I'm going to walk," his friend said. "My flat's not too far off."

"If you're sure," Sherlock replied, knowing why John was choosing to walk and purposely avoiding voicing it.

"I am. I'll stop by tomorrow."

"All right."

He slid into the seat next to Rose and gave the cabbie the address. Then he sat back, glancing at her, unable to refrain from returning the smile she wore.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	13. Wrong Place Wrong Time Pt2

Sherlock unlocked the door to 221 Baker Street and allowed her to step inside first. He followed, closing the door as she removed his coat, having been using it to shield herself from Mycroft's prying cameras and the eyes of the people watching his flat.

It was the best plan he could come up with on short notice, well, the best plan that kept her with him. She would leave soon. As he took his coat and draped it over his arm he tried to come up with a way to keep her there, even if just for a bit.

He knew eventually there would come a time when she stayed, but this wasn't that time. He'd seen the traces of himself on her. His future self. Again he felt that strange sensation of jealousy try to take hold, but he forced it back. She was there, now, with him and he would take that.

"How about a cuppa?" she asked with a grin.

He smiled. It was something at least.

"I believe that can be arranged," he relied, heading for the stairs.

She followed him up and he opened the door, again allowing her to enter first, but when he followed her inside he paused. Mrs. Hudson was sitting in John's chair and a distraught woman sat in _the _chair. A client.

He nearly rolled his eyes, irritated at the intrusion, but stopped. A case. He glanced at Rose. Would she stay for a case? He watched the way her eyes fell on the woman in the chair, concern evident. Yes, she very well might, depending on the case. He grinned.

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said, standing up. "Good, you're back. You have a-"

"Client. Yes, I can see that," he replied, a bit briskly in his desire to usher Mrs. Hudson out so he could find out about the case.

Rose gave Sherlock a _not at all pleased _look and then turned her attention on the woman she'd come to think of as a second mother as the woman's eyes fell on her.

"Who's this?" Mrs. Hudson asked, crossing the room toward them.

"I'm Rose," she introduced.

The woman glanced between them for a moment and then smiled.

"Sherlock's Rose?" Mrs. Hudson inquired. "The one his brother was asking about?"

"Yep. That's me."

_Sherlock's Rose? _He glanced from Mrs. Hudson to her. Well, he was the one she always called when she was in trouble and she would be his wife in future. _His impossible girl. _He supposed _Sherlock's Rose…his Rose _did seem accurate and, not that he'd openly admit it, but he did like the feel of it.

"I'm sure you have programs to get back to, Mrs. Hudson," he said, taking the woman's arm and leading her toward the door. "And we don't want to keep our client waiting."

"All right then, but I'll be downstairs if you need anything." This last bit was said to Rose. "It was nice meeting you, even if it was briefly."

Rose smiled.

"It was lovely meeting you."

"You've both met. It was lovely. Goodbye, Mrs. Hudson," he replied, closing the door.

He glanced at Rose and caught the _not at all pleased _look she wore again, but he ignored it as he walked over and sat down in his chair. She joined him a moment later, taking John's chair.

"Now then, Mrs.…" he began.

"Thompson," the woman replied, her voice strong with emotion.

He took in the wedding ring she wore. There were dark circles under her eyes, shoulders slumped, back arched a bit, fatigue evident in her eyes, telling him she hadn't slept much in quite a while. The state of her hair, brushed, but no time had been taken to style it, her clothes were rumpled, fingernails that had once been kept manicured were chipped the one on the index finger of her right hand had been chewed, nervous habit she recently developed. All the signs pointed to one conclusion. She lost her husband recently, no more than a few months ago. She still wore the ring either out of habit or denial.

She wasn't here for that though. There was something else. She clutched a tissue in one hand, most likely provided by Mrs. Hudson and a picture in the other. A girl. Mid teens. He caught the woman's gaze.

"How long has your daughter been missing?" he inquired, earning a surprised look from her and a smile from Rose.

He resisted the urge to smile in kind, though it was difficult when she looked at him like that.

"How did you-" the woman began.

He waved his hand dismissively.

"How long?"

"Six hours."

"Have you phoned the police?"

"Of course, but they haven't come up with anything. She's not like this, Mr. Holmes." The woman paused. "At least she wasn't like this before."

"Before your husband's death, you mean."

Again the woman gave him a surprised glance. He was used to that sort of thing.

"Y-yes. Albert died four months ago and since then she…changed, but she's never been gone this long. I called all of her friends, but no one's seen her."

"They could be lying."

"Mandy's only fifteen. I just…I just want her home," the woman replied, tears sliding down her cheeks.

Rose stood up and was beside the woman a moment later, taking Mrs. Thompson's hands. Yes, she would stay. He grinned, standing up.

"We'll take the case," he announced. "I'll need to see her room of course and you'll need to provide a list of her friends, anyone she's had contact with." He crossed the room, retrieving his coat as both Rose and Mrs. Thompson joined him.

"Of course," the woman replied.

He opened the door, handing Rose his coat so she could keep herself hidden until they were away from Baker Street. Then he followed them down the stairs and outside.

* * *

Sherlock stepped into Mandy's room and gazed over it. Posters were pinned to the walls. Movies, musicians, and some that he recognized as programs on the telly, not that he watched that sort of thing. He watched Rose walk straight over to the bed, as if she knew exactly what she was looking for and precisely where to find it. She reached between the mattresses and pulled out a book with a pink cover…a diary.

"How did you know that was there?" he inquired.

He would've gotten there eventually, but she seemed to know. How could she know? She gave him a grin.

"Fifteen year old girl without a dad. I know how that feels, yeah?" she replied.

"Yes, but how did you know it would be there? She could've kept her diary on her laptop," he pointed out the open laptop sitting on the girl's desk.

"She probably does, but not the real one."

"How do you know that?"

"I've experience with overprotective mums too," she replied with a grin. He still seemed confused. "It's only been six hours and she's already consulting the most famous consulting detective."

She quirked her brow and he grinned. She was good. She opened the girl's diary and began leafing through it. While she looked for information there he sat down at the desk and began accessing her laptop, looking for anything that might tell him what happened to the girl.

He read a bit of Mandy's obviously false diary.

"Her mother actually believes this drivel?" he inquired, more to himself.

"Most people generally believe what that want," she replied. He glanced at her. "Tell someone what they want to hear and they'll believe it's true."

He knew she was right, of course. He worked enough cases where people were taken in by one con or another.

"A parent should know their child better."

"Every parent can't be…" _us _she'd been about to say, but realized this was him before.

"Can't be what?" he asked, noting the look that told him she almost said something she shouldn't. _Us_? Is that what she'd been about to say?

He knew they had a child. He hadn't actually thought about it, was afraid to. Having a child wasn't something he ever considered, not having been around many children, even when he was a child, but then Mycroft had run most of them off.

"It looks like she was seeing someone," Rose said, changing the subject. "Sort of."

"Sort of?" he inquired, but she was standing up and walking toward him.

"There's a site," she showed him the girl's diary. "Here." She indicated the name.

He typed in the address and brought up the site. Online chatting site.

"Mm," he replied navigating to the login page. "User name and password."

"We've got his username."

"Yes, but without any information on him it will take a while to work out his password."

"Type in his username. I'll take care of his password."

"How?" he asked, glancing at her.

She grinned.

"Just do it."

He drew his brows together, but he typed in the bloke's password and then she reached into her jean pocket and pulled her sonic out, pushing the button, concentrating on the password. A moment later they were in.

"How did you do that?" he inquired, completely baffled by the device. "I thought that only unlocked doors."

"It does a little bit of everything…except wood. It's rubbish with wood." She slid the sonic back into her pocket and leaned over, gazing at the screen while she rested her hand on his shoulder.

He glanced at her hand and then turned his attention to the chat site, fingers flying over the keyboard.

"I can bring up his old chats, but only the ones for the last twenty-four hours, after that they're deleted."

Sixteen chat windows popped up. Chats the bloke had with sixteen different girls, all roughly the same age as Mandy. As he read them he knew she was doing the same. An audible gasp from her told him she came to the conclusion he had. This online boyfriend was, in fact, a predator and if Mandy was anywhere near him she was in danger.

"We have to find her," Rose said, concern evident in her voice.

He glanced at her and the look in her eyes was enough to wrench his heart. He turned back to the laptop and began tracking the address back to the source.

"I'm tracking his address back." His fingers flew across the keyboard and he could feel her eyes on him. "I should have a location…now."

She stood up, removing her hand from his shoulder as he got to his feet. He didn't realize he'd taken her hand until they were halfway down the hall.

"Did you find anything?" Mrs. Thompson called as they stepped through the living room.

"Possibly. We're going to run down the lead, but if we find anything we'll phone," Rose replied, as Sherlock opened the door and pulled her out.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	14. Wrong Place Wrong Time Pt3

Happy Valentine's Day! I'll be putting another up later filled with future fluffiness. :)

* * *

The moment Rose realized what kind of trouble Mandy was in her whole focus became saving the girl. Her mind kept turning to Ally, barely eight, but one day her daughter would be fifteen. One day Ally would turn the heads of not only boys, but men like this.

She didn't think Mandy's situation could be much worse…at least she didn't until she caught sight of the small compound like mansion, complete with high walled fence and iron gate with an armed security guard on the other side. Not a normal predator then. There was something else going on.

Sherlock had instructed the cabbie to circle the block and then drop them the next street over so as to get a look at the place. It wasn't what he expected and, he could see from Rose's reaction it wasn't what she expected either. The look she wore was a mixture of concern, fear, and anger.

He watched her hand ball into a fist and he could almost feel the wave of anger pass over her as the cab drove past the gate. Without a thought he placed his hand over hers, realizing at that moment that he hadn't slipped his gloves back on. She glanced at him, catching his gaze. He felt his eyes soften, as they did every time he looked at her.

"We'll get her out," he said.

"I know," she replied. "'S just," she turned her gaze back out the window as they passed the high walled fence. "People like this…I used to believe that people deserved a second chance, and I still do, but not for everyone, not anymore."

His hand tightened over hers in his desire to change whatever happened in her past that took that belief away from her. She'd been through a traumatic experience, he heard that the last time they were together, in the sound of her voice. The anger that he started to feel at that thought dissipated a moment later as she laid her head on his shoulder, as if it were normal, an everyday occurrence between them and he felt himself wishing that it was.

* * *

Sherlock pulled himself up on the edge of the wall. There was a line of trees on that side between the wall and the mansion. It's the reason he chose that area. It kept the mansion hidden from view of the neighboring flats, but it also would keep them hidden from view of any cameras or security guards.

He offered Rose his hand and helped her over, though she climbed easily and seemed very agile, making him realize she probably didn't need any help, but she allowed it, even gave him a grin and a whispered _thank you _before dropping down on the other side. He reached her a moment later and they quickly concealed themselves among the trees.

"You sent Greg a text, yeah?" she asked.

He almost asked how she knew, but then realized that she probably knew him as well as he knew himself, maybe more. It was the way she looked at him that made him think the latter. As if she could see something in him that he couldn't see himself. There had only been one other person who looked at him like that. He pushed the memories aside, now was not the time to think about the past.

"Of course," he replied.

They cautiously drew closer to the other side. The mansion came into view. As they concealed themselves behind the trunk of a large tree he peeked around the side. Two story with a balcony running the length of the second. Glass doors provided outside access, but there wasn't a ladder, not even a drain pipe near the balcony.

"How are we going to get inside?" Rose asked.

His eyes fell on a basement door, to their left, near the back. The stairs were half concealed between flowering shrubs. He grinned.

"There," he said, nodding toward it.

"You're brilliant," she exclaimed.

He didn't have to look at her to know she was smiling, but he did because he enjoyed the way she looked at him like that. He returned her smile. He gazed at her for a moment and then he took her hand and shifted, meaning to begin crossing the open area that separated them from the door, but she stopped him.

He glanced at her. Rose saw him shoot her a confused look. Was he having fun with her? He must be. He knew her. _John _knew her and when her eyes met Sherlock's he got the same look he'd always had. The one that told her how much he cared.

"Is that it then?" she asked with a grin, her voice taking on that teasing tone. "You're just going to take my hand and run into danger?"

Sherlock gazed at her, trying to figure out what she meant. Did she want to stay behind? Not that he hadn't thought about that, but he doubted she would and he'd never ask her to.

"Did you want me to go on my own?" he inquired.

Now she knew he was teasing. She grinned, pulling him closer as she grabbed his lapel with her free hand.

"Oh, come here you idiot genius," she said and then pulled him down for a kiss.

He had about a half second to realize that she was kissing him before every thought, rational or otherwise, vanished like sand in a windstorm. It wasn't the kiss of two people who hardly knew each other, it was the gentle caress of a lover. He released her hand, both of his winding around her waist as if they had a mind of their own and he pulled her closer.

One of her hands reached up to tangle in his hair while the other slipped under his coat, winding around his waist. There was no awkwardness. It was as if they'd always known each other, as if this weren't their first kiss, but the meeting of one soul who had always known the other.

Every feeling seemed to be heightened by her, her scent, her touch. He wanted more of her, all of her and when he deepened their kiss she allowed it. She wasn't like anyone he'd ever met and he swore he could taste the difference on her. Something wild and raw and powerful, power she held over him. _Stardust. _The word whispered through his mind and he knew what it was. Particles that held the power of the universe. Some long ago bit of information having been tucked in the deep recesses of his mind, information he would've deleted had he known of its existence, but he was glad he hadn't because it was the only word that fit. The only word that could describe _his impossible girl. _

He felt her pulled back, breaking their kiss and he was reluctant to let her go. His body protesting as his hands tightened their hold, wanting to keep her there, with him, always. She ended their kiss, but still he held her, gazing over her, memorizing every detail as he tried to make sense of her.

She laughed, ending in a teasing grin.

"We can't get into the basement until you let me go," she said.

He, reluctantly, released her, forcing his mind back to the case, but the feelings she elicited in him, the way she kissed him, those thoughts lingered. He knew their kiss probably only lasted a few seconds. His ability to catalog every detail making seconds seem like minutes, but that one kiss was enough to make him realize that even if he wanted to he could never walk away from her.

He took her hand and together they raced for the basement door.

* * *

Rose used the sonic to unlock the basement door. She caught the strange glances Sherlock kept shooting her. Why was he acting so weird? She pushed the question aside. She could find out later, for now all that mattered was finding Mandy and keeping her safe before…the sound of sirens in the distance drew her attention. _Bloody hell! _

The door unlock with a soft click and she turned the handle, hurrying inside. The basement was dark and became darker when he closed the door. A moment later he took her hand and she glanced at his outline. It wasn't an uncommon action, but he seemed very focused on her.

She could hear movement and the muffled sounds of sobs. She raised the sonic and pushed the button. A moment later the basement flooded with dim light. It was littered with boxes, crates and a few pieces of covered furniture.

The moment Sherlock entered the dark basement his first instinct was to locate Rose. He'd seen her outline and immediately took her hand. If anything happened he wanted to be ready to pull her back, protect her. It was strange, this need to keep her safe, but he could neither understand nor control it.

He could hear the muffled sobs. Three girls somewhere in the basement. As soon as Rose turned the lights on with that device he scanned the room. There had to be a door. His eyes fell on a large china hutch against the wall to their right.

He walked toward it, releasing her hand as he drew near.

"There's a door," he replied, grabbing the side of the hutch and pulling it away from the wall.

Rose caught sight of the door on the other side.

"Most brilliant man in the universe," she beamed and he couldn't help returning her smile.

He could've used his lock picks, but her device worked faster. He glanced at her, nodding at the device in her hand, not sure if she would allow it. To his surprise she handed it over as if she knew what he was going to ask. He took the device, it was heavier than he expected.

"So, I press this button on the side?" he inquired.

She almost laughed and then realized he was being serious. He hadn't used the sonic before. Wait. She thought back to their kiss. _Bollocks! _She pushed the thought aside.

"Aim at the door handle. Think about unlocking the door and then hold down the button until you hear it unlock," she explained.

_Think about unlocking the door? _How could the device know what he wanted? He did as she instructed, even if he wasn't sure how it was possible, and a moment later he heard the soft click of the door unlocking.

He handed the device back, glancing at her and caught the smile she wore, the admiration that was always present when she looked at him shining in her deep hazel eyes. He returned her smile, but at that moment the door at the top of the stairs opened and he pulled his gun, aiming it, Rose was beside him a moment later, her own gun in her hand.

The person descended and they both relaxed as they caught sight of Greg followed by Sally.

"Should've known you'd have something to do with this," Sally said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Of course he's here or is there someone else you know of who takes the time to solve cases so you can catch criminals before they hurt anyone else?" Rose asked.

He glanced at her. Is that really what she thought of him? It was true he worked cases and helped the Yard catch criminals, well, more like he did all the work of locating them and then the Yard came in and arrested them, but it was the cases not the people. With the exception of John and Mary and John's ex-commander, but that was because the man was important to his friend.

Before he could say anything she turned her attention to the door and opened it, stepping inside. He followed, giving Greg and Sally a glance before entering. Three gasps followed their entrance and he could hear the girls shifting in the far corner.

"'S all right," Rose said in a soothing, motherly voice.

He felt along the wall and found a switch. The small room flooded with light and three girls roughly the same age were huddled on a mattress together. All three frightened, but fully clothes and appeared to be unharmed, trauma of the experience aside.

Rose blinked at the lights illuminated the room and the girls. Anger at the situation they'd been forced into and concern for them battled for control. She wanted to run to them, pull them out of there, get them as far from this nightmare as possible, but she held back, knowing how frightened they were and that running over to them might scare them.

"I'm Rose," she said, cautiously stepping toward them, gazing at their frightened eyes. "Is one of you Mandy."

"I…" a girl on the end, straight dark hair, wearing a tunic style shirt and leggings chocked out and then swallowed. "I am."

"Your mum asked us to find you," she reached them then, bending down.

Mandy glanced from her to Sherlock and back.

"He…he's with you?"

"Yep. That's Sherlock Holmes, have you heard of him?" Mandy nodded. "He's the one who figure out where you were."

"Can I go home?"

Rose smiled, taking the girl's hand and then resting her eyes on the other two in turn.

"You can all go home, yeah?"

A moment later she was inveloped by three hugs and couldn't help laughing softly.

Sherlock watched her from the doorway. He knew Lestrade and Donovan were also watching, but he ignored their presence, focusing on her. She had a way that made people trust her, made them feel safe around her. He had, on occasion, faked that sort of behavior, but hers was genuine. She was, in his opinion, his polar opposite. Everything that he was not. It made him question why she would choose him. Why she would choose to spend her life with someone who was unable to care the way she cared.

* * *

Sherlock followed Rose into his flat, not having been alone with her since Lestrade and Donovan's arrival. None of the girls wanted to be out of Rose's presence until they were safely back with their parents, something she easily obliged.

She was able to smooth over their fear, with a word or a brush of their hair. He watched their interactions intently, almost mesmerized by her ability to make them feel better after their nightmare of an ordeal.

He strode into the kitchen and put the kettle on after removing his coat and scarf. The question from the crime scene had plagued him the entire time and he felt a need to know the answer, but at the same time he was afraid of voicing the question. She was far too good for someone like him, but he was afraid of losing her, afraid of voicing that question, planting seeds of doubt in her that would later make her realize the truth of his words.

Rose watched him carefully. He'd been strange at the crime scene, but after finding the girls his strange behavior had grown. Had she done something? Said something? Revealed something before she should have?

Sherlock could feel her standing behind him, but he didn't turn around, too afraid the question would find a voice. He felt her hand on his shoulder.

"Did I do something?" she asked, her voice hesitant for the first time.

He turned around then and caught her gaze. How could she believe she could ever do anything wrong? She was the pure essence of good, of light in a dark world. He took her hand, wanting to banish that thought from her mind.

"No," _luv_ he almost said, but stopped himself. There was such concern in her eyes that he couldn't resist telling her. "You're wrong…about me."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

She was under a delusion and as much as he wanted to keep her he couldn't allow her to believe he was something that he wasn't.

"I care about the case, not the person." He glanced at their hands, not wanting to watch that adoration that she held for him die. "I'm not a savior, Rose. That's not who I am."

He felt her cup his cheek. She tilted his head up to meet her eyes and the smile she wore, the look in her eyes, wasn't teasing, wasn't adoration, it was love, pure and complete.

"And you are so wrong," she replied. "You don't think you can care like other people, but you already do. I know why you chose logic over feelings. You can hide the truth from yourself, but you can't hide it from me because I know, I can see it. I've always been able to see who you really are Sherlock Holmes."

The way she gazed at him, gazed into him told him the truth of her words, made him believe that there was something inside him that she could see. It made him want to be better, for her.

"'S why I love you," she continued.

The word, spoken so easily, gave him pause. He'd heard it from others after getting them to fall in love with him, but those had been charades. He never reciprocated their feelings. They had been pawns, a means for him to gain information or complete his plan. The word coming from her seemed to fill some hole inside of him, one he didn't even know existed.

"I…" he began, but she pressed her finger to his lips.

"Not yet. You're not ready, but 's okay," she said, pulling her finger back, but the feeling of her touch still lingered. "I've heard you say them and I only want you to when you're ready. When you know."

He felt her hand relax in his and he could see the look that told him she was going to leave, but he tightened his hold.

"Don't go." Not a statement, but a plea.

"I'm sorry, but I can't stay, not yet."

"When?"

"Soon. I promise," she pulled back and stepped away, entering the information in her Vortex Manipulator. She caught his gaze before she pressed the button. "And I'm sorry."

Before he could ask what she meant she was gone. At that moment the kettle boiled. _Soon_, but when was soon? And what could she possibly have to be sorry about?

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	15. Family Pt2

Here's some Mycroft fluffiness! :)

* * *

Sherlock glanced up from the laptop as the front door opened. He'd been standing at the desk, bent over, but as Mycroft stepped into the flat he straightened. His brother was dressed in the usual attire, carrying the umbrella that almost seemed a constant accessory for reasons he knew Mycroft would never admit to.

"Don't trouble yourself, dear brother, I can let myself in," Mycroft said.

"Nothing new there then," Sherlock replied.

His brother gave him a tight smile, closing the door. At that moment Rose stepped into the room and the very air seemed to change.

"Mycroft," she greeted, hurrying across the room and pulling the elder Holmes into a tight hug.

"Careful now, my dear, you'll wrinkle your dress," Mycroft replied, but his hands wove around her waist as he returned her hug.

She pulled back a minute later, giving the man she thought of as family a grin.

"You're more important than a silly old dress."

"That _silly old dress _as you call it cost a fair bit of coin," Sherlock replied, his own grin in place as he crossed the room toward his wife who was wearing a long silver silk gown that not only accentuated every part of her body, but fairly took his breath away the moment she stepped into the room.

"Fine then, silly expensive dress," she replied, giving him that cheeky grin and it was everything he could do not to usher his brother back out the door, but that would ruin their plans for that evening, well, his plans.

"I'm not sure how much my brother paid, but I can assure you it wasn't enough. You look breathtaking, my dear," Mycroft said.

Her attention focused on the elder Holmes as she beamed.

"Are you being cheeky again, Mike?"

"That depends," the man replied with his own smile. "Is it working?"

She laughed.

"You know I'd never leave my husband."

She gave Sherlock a smile he returned.

"I have all hope you'll eventually tire of my little brother."

"Uncle Mike!" the exclamation came from the kitchen and a moment later an amber eyed, dark curled mass of energy raced through the room and threw herself, quite literally, around the waist of a bemused Mycroft Holmes.

"Good evening, Allison," Mycroft greeted. "I can see your father allowed desert before my arrival."

Rose caught the wicked grin Sherlock was sporting and slapped his arm.

"What?" he asked, as if he were perfectly innocent, which she knew he wasn't.

"I told you to wait," she said, but her chastising was lost in the grin she wore.

"She said please. How could I refuse?"

"Actually, you said don't tell mum I'm giving you extra ice-cream and definitely don't tell her about the fudge," Alley said in that completely honest six year old way.

"I don't recall that," Sherlock replied, stepping over to the door and busying himself with his coat and scarf.

"Uncle Mike believes me, don't you Uncle Mike?" she asked, still clinging to Mycroft's middle and looked up at him with big amber eyes.

"Of course I do, Allison. That sounds exactly like your father. Now, why don't you go find a story," Mycroft replied and was greeted by an ear splitting squeal of delight before she extracted herself from him and raced up to her room.

Sherlock helped Rose into her coat, before catching his brother's gaze.

"Ice-cream and hot fudge?" Mycroft asked disapprovingly.

"I could say the same for the three éclairs you let her eat before you brought her back from the zoo on Monday," Sherlock replied.

His brother smiled and then turned his attention to Rose.

"I hope my brother hasn't planned too dull of an evening," Mycroft said.

"I'm not sure. He's keeping whatever plan he has secret," she replied, giving Sherlock a smile.

"Let's hope that doesn't bode ill, but if it does, as my dear brother once pointed out, private jets can be charterd, plans can be changed."

"You're sweet," she said, resting her hand on the elder Holmes arm and bending forward to place a kiss on his cheek. "But I really do think one Holmes is quite enough for me."

Sherlock took her arm then and led her out of the flat. Mycroft stared at the closed door a moment and, when he was sure no one could hear he allowed the slight sigh. It was a lark, always a lark on the outset. He would never, of course, break up their family and he knew that he didn't stand a chance against her feelings for his brother, but he couldn't help being drawn to the light that was her.

"I found one," his niece's voice carried across the room to him and he turned around, giving the girl a smile.

Allison, named after the one they lost. The other one. He might not be able to have the life he wished for, a life he never thought about before he almost died, but at least he wasn't alone.

"What is it this time? Dragons? Witches? Pirates?" he asked walking over to John's chair.

"Time travelers," she replied, climbing into his lap after he sat down and handing over the book.

He chuckled at that.

"You really are your mother's daughter," he said.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	16. Valentine

It's super short, I know, but it's pretty. :)

* * *

Sherlock led Rose to the center of the dome shaped room, his hands on her bare shoulders, having removed her coat downstairs. She was grinning, unable to see anything through the blindfold, but she trusted him. She always trusted him, _with everything always _as she once said.

"Can I take the blindfold off yet?" she asked.

"Not yet, luv," he replied. "I want everything to be perfect."

"You're too good to me. You know that, yeah?"

He bent down and kissed her, once, softly, unable to resist and then pulled away.

"Nothing is too good for you." He stopped her. "Now, don't move."

He stepped back, gazing over her a moment in the sliver dress that he purchased, handcrafted for her. Knowing every inch of her as he did he easily gave the seamstress the required measurements. It'd been her first gift of the evening, but it would, by far, be her last.

He pulled the sonic out and pointed it at the constellation light and pushed the button. The cutout stars and moons were replaced by actual constellations that danced over the walls and ceiling. Then he started the music and lit the candle on the table before returning to her.

He reached back and untied the blindfold, removing it slowly. She blinked, her eyes catching his for a brief moment before turning her gaze on the room and the smile that took hold, the wonder in her eyes was all the reward he needed.

"I know I can't take you to the stars so I brought them to you," he said.

Her shining eyes fixed on him and he could see the tears in the corners, happy tears he knew. She pulled him into a hug.

"I can't believe you did all this for me," she replied.

"I would do anything for you. You should know that."

She pulled back and caught his gaze.

"And I would do anything for you."

"I know, luv," he replied, knowing her words were true because he'd already watched her make the ultimate sacrifice for him.

He banished the memory before it could take hold, as he always did when they were together. He returned her smile and offered his hand.

"May I have this dance?" he asked.

She gave him her hand.

"Always," she replied.

Rose couldn't help grinning and she knew she was smiling like an idiot, but he'd put so much work into the evening and for her. Always for her. She never thought she would ever be this happy, would ever find someone like him. After everything that happened on Pete's world she started to think that she was just as cursed as the Doctor. That the universe was conspiring to keep her from ever truly being happy. She spent a year trying to get away from those memories, trying to find a way back to Jack, to Mickey, to a life she could find some semblance of happiness in, but the universe had other plans and she wound up there.

She didn't like to think about what happened in those first few days. The horrors she experienced, but it was because of those that he found her, saved her. He stayed with her, took care of her and she knew she only survived that because of him. There wasn't anything she wouldn't do for him. She was _his impossible girl _and he was the love of her life.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	17. Not Everyone Can Be Saved Pt1

Mycroft glanced up as the door to his office opened. He'd been expecting Rose having agreed to help her plan Sherlock's birthday, not something he would've conceived of doing before her, but he'd never been able to refuse her and he found himself unable to turn down a chance to spend time with her, even if it was for someone else, the man she was in love with.

The person who stepped into his office wasn't who he expected. He stood up, eyes widening as he realized he'd seen the man before. This was the man who tried to kill him. The man who nearly killed her.

"Mycroft Holmes," the man sneered.

"Yes," Mycroft replied, trying to work out a plan, one that would change things, one that would take away the guilt she felt.

There was one way. Only one and he knew what the result would be.

"It's your fault she's dead."

"I'm sorry?" Mycroft asked, having no idea who the man was referring to.

"You don't even know what I'm talking about do you? But you will," the man snapped, unzipping his jacket to reveal the bomb Mycroft knew was strapped underneath.

The man pulled a dead-man's switch from his jacket pocket.

"There was a mission last month, do you remember?" the man continued.

Mycroft recalled the mission. He lost two agents. Donald Michaels and… "You're Angie's husband," he said.

"I'm surprised you didn't recognize me, but then we only met briefly at that Christmas party. I suppose to someone like you none of the little people matter."

So this…all of it was on him. He was the cause of her guilt. He made up his mind quickly, knowing that he, like his brother, would do anything for her.

"You're right, of course," he said, earning a glare from the unstable man. "I haven't given your wife's death a second thought, but then why should I? If she'd been half the agent I believed she was she would still be alive."

The man's finger twitched over the dead-man's switched, but at that moment a flash of light followed by a zapping noise alerted Mycroft to Rose's presence. _Bloody hell! _

"Rose! Go!" he shouted, hurrying around the desk, to try to stop what he knew was about to happen.

Rose glanced from Mycroft to the man, but before she could fully realize the situation the man spun around and grabbed her arm, his fingers closing over the Vortex Manipulator.

Mycroft saw the surprise in her eyes and in the next moment they were both gone. Proceeded by the noise and flash of light. His heart lurched in his chest and he stopped, eyes closing. He'd been unable to stop it, to change what happened, what was about to happen to her.

* * *

The familiar sensation passed and Rose found herself standing on a London street, mid-afternoon. The man released her hand, a look of surprise and confusion on his face.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded.

She took in the bomb strapped to his chest. Dead-man's switch in his right hand. Who the hell was he? Had he been trying to kill Mike? She could see the desperation in his eyes and something else…loss.

"Look, I…I don't know what happened to you, but I can help, yeah?" she tried. "Just…just don't do anything rash."

"You can't help me. No one can help me!" he yelled, his eyes darting around the road wildly as he tried to hide the bomb, but keeping the switch in his hand. "She's dead! It's not something that can be fixed!"

He'd lost someone and now he wanted revenge. Mike? She didn't think he'd actually kill anyone. She took a step toward the man, wanting to make him see reason, stop him from throwing away his life, but her movement made his eyes snap to her and in the next moment he was running.

She chased after him. She couldn't let him run around London with a bomb strapped to his chest. She had to keep him from killing himself and anyone else. He was unstable, but she had to try to help him. It's who she was.

Mycroft's driver opened the door, but before he climbed into his car a man raced past him and then up the steps of the museum he'd just come from. The man was being pursued by a blonde woman. No. He turned, not just any blonde woman. _Her. _Sherlock's wife. The woman he'd been trying to locate for the past three months.

Without a second thought he gave chase. Up the steps and through the main doors. He caught sight of her as she raced around a corner into the newer area that was still under construction. The curator planned an Egyptian section, which was the whole reason Mycroft had been there. Image was everything in his line of work and donating always looked good.

He raced into the unfinished room, but a moment later someone grabbed him from behind. His umbrella clattered to the floor.

"Looks like I'm going to get a second chance," a man sneered.

"What is this about?" Mycroft insisted, trying to struggle out of the man's grip, but the arm around his throat tightened.

In the next moment Rose stepped toward them.

"Look just…just calm down," she said in a soothing voice as she cautiously crept toward them.

Where the hell had Mike come from? She glanced over the elder Holmes and noted the differences. _Shit! _This was past Mike. Bringing the bloke back was on her and she couldn't let Mike get hurt because she'd decided to save time by coming back from picking up Sherlock's present and gone straight to his house instead of going home and putting the device away, which is what she should've done.

"I am calm," the man yelled.

"Clearly," Mycroft said, the man's arm tightened and for a moment the elder Holmes floundered, unable to breathe.

She resisted the urge to tell Mike he wasn't helping and point out that people who were being held hostage shouldn't upset the person holding them. Instead she tried to diffuse the situation the best way she knew how. Through common ground.

"Hey," Rose said, drawing the man's attention. "I…I know you're upset because you lost someone one."

"Did he tell you that?" the man asked.

"No. Loss recognizes loss, yeah?" she said and the man's arm relaxed enough for Mycroft to take a breath.

He gasped for a moment, coughing. The man ignored him, eyeing Rose. The bloke swallowed.

"It's his fault. She's dead because of him."

"I assure you I have no idea what or who you're referring to."

She watched the man's eyes darken, but she raised her arms, drawing the bloke's attention before he snapped, something he was very close to doing.

"I know you need someone to blame. I've been there. I understand that, but this…what you're doing, do you really think this is what she'd want?" The man's shoulders relaxed a bit and she knew she was getting through to him. "Your wife, yeah?" He didn't have to tell her. She could see it. "You loved her. I can see that and she must have loved you for you to miss her this much, but you know she wouldn't have wanted this for you. Wouldn't have wanted you to hurt anyone. Am I right?"

The man sighed and she could feel the weight he carried in it.

"She was an agent, but she never hurt anyone." Mycroft started to chuckle, but Rose's eyes snapped to his and the laugh ended in a cough.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"It's Danny."

"I'm Rose and the man you're holding, he's important to me." Mycroft's face became unreadable, but Rose ignored that. "I know he can be an arrogant sod at times, but he's not a bad sort. Not really and he's my family. I don't have much family left so, please, don't make me lose anymore."

Danny glanced at Mycroft a moment and then he released his hold, pushing the elder Holmes toward her.

"Fine," the man said and she could hear the resignation in his voice as she took Mike's arm and pull him toward her.

"Thank you," she replied.

"You should go, both of you."

"Danny, don't do this."

Mycroft took her arm.

"You heard him, Rose," he said, trying to pull her out of the room.

"Danny, please!" she shouted, but in the next moment Mycroft wrenched her out of the room. "Mike! Stop! We have to go back!"

In the next moment a loud explosion shook the entire building. Both Rose and Mycroft were thrown into the air by the force of the blast.

* * *

Sherlock sat in his chair his mind, as it always did during a lull in cases, turned to her. It had been forty-three days since he'd seen her. Every minute drug past excruciatingly slow as she was all he could think about. _Soon_.

How many more times would he have to let her go before she stayed? He longed for the day he would wake up to her. The day he could wrap his arms around her and not fear she would leave him.

He allowed himself to return to that day, almost half a year ago now. The first time he saw her. The first time he looked into her eyes. Even then he'd felt a pull toward her. He'd felt that she was different that she was special, though he wouldn't allow himself to hold onto those thoughts.

She had given herself for him without a second thought. That's what drew him in, what made him need to know who she was. He knew he couldn't change that day, couldn't change those events, but he had to save her. There had to be a way.

"Sherlock," John's insistent voice interrupted his thoughts. He glanced up at his friend in annoyance as the man hovered over him. "Phone."

He glanced at his phone in John's hand and then took it, knowing it wasn't her, his friend would have told him.

"Yes?" he snapped, a bit irritated.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade's voice greeted him.

Was it a case? He could do with a distraction. He sat up.

"Where?" he asked.

"No, it's…it's not a case."

He could hear anxiety in the inspector's voice and something else…concern? Every fiber of his being flooded with dread as one thought filled his mind. Something happened to her.

"What is it?"

"There's been an explosion at one of the museums. It looks like it was a bomb."

"That's not your division."

"No…I…look they wanted me to call because of our…you know…"

"Tell me what happened," he insisted, growing angrier by the second.

Whatever it was was bad, he could hear that in Greg's voice.

"It's…well…it's Mycroft."

The dread was quickly replaced by two emotions. Fear and concern. Mycroft. His brother. His brother was in the museum when the bomb went off. It's the only reason Greg would be calling.

"Text me the address," he said, standing up. "We're on our way."

"Sherlock look, there isn't anything you can do. We have our best men on it."

"I've seen what your best men can do inspector. This is my brother we're talking about. I won't allow any of your idiots to screw this up," the last bit he fairly shouted, but he didn't care.

John watched Sherlock hang up the phone after shouting at Greg. Something happened to Mycroft. He stood up and grabbed his coat, following Sherlock out of the flat and down the stairs.

* * *

Rose coughed. Slowly, she opened her eyes. It was dark, too dark to see. Her right ankle burned as if it was on fire, but she ignored that as she pushed herself up. She'd been lying on her chest.

"Mike," she called.

When he didn't answer her heart flooded with fear. If he was dead she'd never forgive herself.

"Mike!"

She heard something shift above her and then dust rained down on her. She coughed again. She had to be careful. She must be in some kind of a pocket created by the debris and it was unstable. She carefully rolled over, hissing when she shifted her leg and her sore angle struck something on her right. Broken, at least she was fairly sure.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her sonic. She pushed the button, hoping it wasn't loud enough to shift the debris. Using it as a torch she looked around the area she was trapped in. The ceiling of debris wasn't too far from her. Definitely not enough room to stand, but she could sit up so that was something. On her left the wall of debris was close. She didn't have to extend her hand to touch it.

She turned her attention to her right and that's when she saw him, lying on his back, eyes closed. There was a nasty gash on the left side of his head and his suit was more of a mess than she'd ever seen it. She reached down, feeling the pulse in his neck. Steady. Strong. She sighed in relief.

"Mike," she said, loud, but not loud enough to disturb the debris. He didn't move. " Mike." She slapped his cheek.

He moaned, making her grin.

Mycroft coughed, opening his eyes as a strange warbling noise assailed him. He found himself gazing up into the face of the woman who saved him. She appeared to be holding some sort of torch lit with a greenish glow. The torch was making the horrid noise.

He started to sit up, but a wave of dizziness passed over him.

"Are you all right?" she asked in concern.

"Yes. Fine," he lied, not wanting to betray a weakness. "It's that blasted noise."

"Sorry, no noise no light."

He glowered.

"Fine."

Rose watched him carefully. He said he was fine, but he looked anything, but fine. She casually passed the sonic over him and glanced at the readings.

"You have a concussion," she said.

"Are you a doctor now?"

She could hear the irritation in his voice and knew that was the fear, fear he'd never admit to. She smiled.

"If you like, but you do have a concussion."

She reached out and tested the debris behind her. It seemed stable enough. She scooted back, hissing as she drug her injured ankle.

"You're injured," Mycroft said after hearing her sharp intake of breath.

He forced the dizziness aside and gazed over her. There was a cut in her left cheek, not too deep, the back of her right hand, but it appeared to be one of her legs as she gazed down at them after he spoke.

"My ankle, yeah. I think it's broke, but we can worry about that once we get out of here."

"If we get out of here."

She laughed.

"You're more of a glass is half empty person, yeah?"

Before he could shoot off a reply she sat the torch down and he was immersed in complete darkness. He felt his chest constrict as panic threatened to take hold. He had one fear, only one and that fear involved the two things that were now assailing him. Complete darkness and small spaces. He could handle small spaces on their own. He could handle darkness on its own, but put the two together and his rational mind fled.

He felt her take his arm then and with more strength than he would've believed she possess she pulled him back towards her. A moment later he was leaned up, half against her and half against the hard debris that made up the back wall of their small, confined area. Then the torch was in her hand again, illuminating the space.

"Better?" she asked.

"We're trapped beneath the rubble of a collapsed building. According to you I have a concussion and your ankle is broken. I don't understand how you can believe a torch can make the situation better," he replied, irritably.

"You're right. A torch wouldn't make things better, but luckily this," she held up the sonic. "Isn't a torch and if we're very lucky it just might help us get out of here."

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	18. Not Everyone Can Be Saved Pt2

Greg spotted Sherlock the moment the detective stepped out of the cab. The scene was a nightmare. Two bodies had already been pulled from the mess, but the debris shifted and Mycroft's people…some upper government bureaucrats wouldn't let anyone near the site until they located what they deemed a _suitable expert_.

He'd already had to pull Brooks off one of the blokes. Some long nosed arrogant sod who told Brooks he'd find himself in a country that didn't even appear on the most detailed map if he took one step toward the wreckage.

"I told you not to come down here," Greg snapped as he drew closer to the detective.

Sherlock wasn't listening to the inspector. The moment his eyes fell on the wreckage he felt emotions he never knew existed for his brother begin to stir. The entire building had collapsed in on itself. He'd never been a hopeful person and from his vantage point he couldn't see anything that would lead him to believe Mycroft could have survived that.

"Christ," John breathed beside him.

"How many bodies have you found?" he asked, latching onto the first question that came to mind.

Lestrade could see the concern in Sherlock's eyes. Something that took him by surprise and for a moment he couldn't seem to make his mouth function.

"Two, but your brother's associates won't let anyone near the site. The rubble shifted when we pulled the last body out. They insisted on calling in an expert, but they seem to be having a hell of a time locating one."

* * *

"If it's not a torch then what is it?" Mycroft asked, gazing at the strange device.

"Sonic screwdriver meet Mike, Mike meet the sonic screwdriver," Rose teased, trying to alleviate the situation.

"Sonic what?" he asked, eyeing it.

"Screwdriver." She glanced at him with a grin. "Yeah, bit of a rubbish title since it kind of makes you think it just unscrews screws, which it does, but it does a lot of other stuff too."

"Do tell."

"It's what told me you had a concussion, it unlocks doors, turns on lights, scans computer files, shorts things out, charges batteries, boosts power, the list goes on."

"How, exactly, can that device do all that?"

"Think of it like a computer that can scan things and give readings."

"And short out devices, charge batteries, boost power. That device can't possibly do all that."

"I've found that a lot of things I deemed impossible are actually quite possible…somewhere."

"Yes, well, you have quite the imagination."

She grinned, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"I've been told."

He gave her a startled glance that made her laugh.

"You really should refrain from laughing," he said. "It's a waste of oxygen and since we're trapped we can't be sure we have air to squander."

_Damn! _She hadn't thought of that. She held the sonic out and pressed the button.

"What are you doing?" he inquired.

"Testing your theory," she replied.

She glanced at the readings, her eyes widening as she realized that he was right. They didn't have oxygen to waste.

"What is it?" he asked, still not believing her story about the device, but the way her eyes widened told him that whatever she was seeing worried her.

"We need a plan."

* * *

"Sherlock you heard Greg. There isn't anything we can do," John tried.

They'd been there for nearly twenty minutes and during that time Sherlock managed to get into an argument with three of Mycroft's associates, Brooks, two officers, and someone he was fairly sure was a bystander.

"And what do you suggest, John? Go back to Baker Street and wait for someone to call and let me know if my brother is alive or not," Sherlock snapped.

"I think," he began, slowly. "For once, maybe, you should let someone else handle things."

"You mean let that group of incompetent idiots who can't even find an engineering expert take care of the situation?"

"And what's the other option? You're a chemist and a detective, but you're not an engineer."

"Which is precisely why I'm trying to locate one."

"They aren't going to let just anyone in here."

"I'm not an idiot, John," Sherlock snapped. "I'm not going to find just anyone."

John sighed, giving up. His friend was more than worried, though he'd never admit that. Mycroft was his brother and for all their rivalry in the end they were family.

* * *

Rose searched first one pocket and then the other. Not in her jacket. _Damn! _She felt her jeans.

"Shit!" she snapped.

"I take it from your choice in words that something's amiss," Mycroft said.

"I lost my phone."

She needed to call him because she promised. She knew he couldn't help, not with this. It wasn't a murder or a kidnapping, though she always believed he could do anything he put his mind to. She'd never broken a promise and she wasn't about to start today, not with him.

"Since I believe we're out of the service area it hardly matters," Mycroft replied.

"We don't need to be in a service area."

She sighed. Mycroft watched her for a moment. It seemed to be important to her even though he knew she wouldn't be able to place a call or send a text, not with all that rubble around them, but he couldn't help the strange need he felt to take that resigned look from her face.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile.

"Not that it will do you any good, but you could try mine," he said, handing it over.

She glanced at the phone in his hand and then caught his gaze and the smile she gave him nearly lit up the darkness beyond her torchlight. He felt himself smile in response, but he pulled it back a moment later as he cleared his throat.

She took it and pushed the button at the top to access the screen. He glanced at the bars the same time she did. No service, as he thought. He expected her resigned look to make another appearance, but instead, she turned his phone over and pulled off the back, pointing her torch at it and a moment later she replaced the back and turned his mobile back over. When he looked at the bars he blinked. Full bars. He glanced at the torch that obviously wasn't simply a torch._ Sonic screwdriver. _Could that device actually do everything she claimed?

* * *

"He's an expert," Sherlock shouted. "He might not be your expert, who, might I add, still hasn't made an appearance, but he's only two hours out!"

"This is a matter of national importance and we won't put the life of Mycroft Holmes in the hands of some engineer you located over the internet," Mr. Calvier, the idiot in charge, snapped.

"My brother could bleed to death before your expert gets round to stopping by," Sherlock yelled.

"And you're expert could crush him. The entire structure is unstable."

"What structure? There isn't anything left, but rubble."

"Precisely."

"Sherlock," John shouted, grabbing his friend's arm.

The detective was close to snapping. He could see that and the last thing he wanted was for Sherlock to attack Mr. Calvier, even if John felt like punching the bloke. At that moment Sherlock's mobile rang.

Sherlock nearly threw his phone when it started ringing, well, it was a thought and involved Mr. Calvier's head, but he resisted the urge, hoping that it might be the engineer. He'd left a message sixteen minutes ago.

When he read the name he paused. Mycroft? How could his brother be phoning him? Even if Mycroft managed to survive and wasn't severely injured there was no way service could reach the man under all that debris. He answered the call.

"Mycroft?" he asked, ignoring both the look from John and the one Mr. Calvier gave him.

"Sherlock?" Rose asked.

His eyes snapped to the rubble and for a moment that seemed like hours he couldn't breathe. The only way she could be in possession of Mycroft's phone would be if she were with his brother and Mycroft was trapped under a collapsed building, which meant she was there…_Oh, god_…she was under that, down in the dark, trapped.

John watched the change come over his friend. Sherlock had been upset, concerned, angry, but the look his friend wore at that moment was a look he recognized…complete and utter devastation. It was how he felt when he watched Sherlock plunge to his death from the top of that building all those years ago.

"Sherlock?" she asked again and the concern in her voice drew the breath back into him.

"Rose?" he inquired, her name coming out in a whoosh of air.

"Rose?" John asked, and he knew, his eyes snapped to the rubble. _Oh god. _He just knew. "She's in there."

Sherlock glanced at John, their eyes locking for a moment and then the detective turned back to the rubble.

"Are you all right?" she asked and Sherlock almost laughed.

Laughed because it was so like her. She was trapped under a mountain of rubble and she was worried about him.

"Are you?"

"You know, don't you?"

"Yes. I…I'm outside."

She laughed and he couldn't help smiling, sadly, briefly.

"Outside implies a door, though I'm sure there's one round here somewhere."

"Are you hurt?"

"Nothing that won't heal. Mike's here. You can talk to him if you like." She paused and he was about to decline the offer, choosing to speak with her instead. "Don't be such a girl, Mike. He's your brother." He almost swore he could hear her rolling her eyes. "Mike's too choked with emotion to speak." She laughed and he could hear his brother in the background, not at all pleased with her excuse.

"They're trying to locate an engineer now. I've found one not too far off, two hours at most."

"'S good," she said, but he could hear something in her voice, something that told him two hours was too long.

"What is it?" he asked. She paused and he could hear a weight in that pause, as if she was holding something back. "Rose?"

"'S…um…it's the oxygen. We're trapped in a kind of pocket, rubble all round us, over us, but we're okay. Thing is there's not a lot of air and…"

"And?"

"And we've got about nineteen minutes left before it runs out."

His entire body flooded with panic. Nineteen minutes? Even with a jet he couldn't get the engineer there that soon and that had been the closest one. There had to be someone else. Something they could do.

John watched the panic take hold, panic he hadn't seen since the hound, but this was stronger. Something was wrong, more wrong than Rose being trapped under that rubble.

"Sherlock, what is it?" the doctor asked.

"They're trapped and they're running out of air."

"You've got to do something," John snapped, rounding on Mr. Calvier. "You have to get them out of there now!"

"We're waiting on our engineer," Mr. Calvier insisted.

"Sod your bloody engineer. Get the one Sherlock found. He's closer." John glanced at Sherlock. "How long do they have?"

"Eighteen minutes twelve seconds now."

"Shit!" John started to pace. "Shit!" He eyed Mr. Calvier. "Mycroft has jets. Send one of those-"

"There isn't time," Sherlock said. "Even with a jet it would take forty-seven minutes."

The detective heard Rose laugh on the other end of the line.

"I did warn you about the whole jeopardy friendly thing, yeah?" she said.

He felt his hand tighten on his phone. She was so close, but she might as well be a million miles away. He was there, but he was useless. This wasn't a murder or kidnapping, there was no puzzle to solve.

"I…I don't know what to do," he admitted.

She could hear it in his voice. The fear, the panic, lying just beneath the surface. She closed her eyes, forcing her own fear away. He was Sherlock Holmes and she was _his impossible girl_. Together they could do anything and although they might be separated by distance and an entire building of rubble they were both there. She could do this, find a way. If A wouldn't work and B wouldn't work then why not G or V? There had to be a way.

"Okay," she said, opening her eyes. "Engineer, yeah?"

"There isn't time to get one."

"So we make do. We improvise. You're the engineer."

"Sorry?" both Sherlock and Mycroft said at the same time.

"There are people out there set to dig, yeah?" she asked, ignoring Mike who wore a _there's no way in hell this is going to work look _because if there's one person in all of the universe she believed in it was Sherlock Holmes.

"Yes, but I'm not an engineer. I've no experience. I-"

"Stop telling me what you can't do and let me tell you what I know. I know that you're the most brilliant man in the universe. They just need to know where to dig, how much pressure they can and can't apply. They need to know the math."

"Rose, I…" he paused. She made it sound so simple and perhaps it was, but one mistake and he'd lose her, both of them, but it was her his mind turned to and it would be his fault. "I don't know if I can."

"You can do this, Sherlock. I know you can."

"I…"

"I trust you with my life, with everything, always and forever."

That was all it took. He caught John's gaze.

"Find Greg. Get me a laptop. I need the museum plans and I need to know about the architecture, what building supplies were used and we have," he glanced at his watch, "fourteen minutes thirty-two seconds."

"Right," his friend said before hurrying off.

"I won't allow you to-" Mr. Calvier began.

Sherlock rounded on the man.

"My brother and my wife are trapped under that rubble and at the moment you're the only one standing between them and me. You know who I am, what I'm capable of. So, Mr. Calvier, you need to ask yourself where exactly do you want to be standing?"

Calvier hesitated a moment, eyes shifting and then turned and hurried off. Sherlock focused his attention back on Rose.

"Tell me about the bomb," he said.

"C4, dead-man's switch. It was strapped to a man's chest. He was standing in the far East room," she explained.

"Where were you and Mycroft?"

"We were coming out of the room, running toward the front doors, about three meters out."

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	19. Not Everyone Can Be Saved Pt3

Because I didn't want to leave you hanging. :)

* * *

"Are you sure you're all right?" John asked into the phone.

Sherlock handed it to him as soon as the laptop arrived, which had taken Greg less than three minutes to set up as soon as the inspector found out who else was buried with Mycroft. John glanced at his friend, watching Sherlock's fingers fly over the keyboard as the detective brought up everything he needed in order to do the calculations. John still wasn't sure about the idea, but it seemed to be their only option.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied.

"A broken ankle is hardly fine, my dear," Mycroft replied and then paused. _My dear? _Must be the lack of oxygen starting to idle his mind.

"Broken ankle?" John inquired.

At that Sherlock paused, glancing at him, but John waved his friend off. Sherlock's brows drew together, but he returned to his research.

"'S fine. Doesn't hurt too much unless I move it and I'm not planning on doing that so, like I said, I'm fine. Mike's got a concussion, but I know what to do for that. Keep him awake, keep him alert. I've got this doctor."

John couldn't help smiling at that. She was brave. More worried about making sure Mycroft didn't succumb to his concussion than her ankle, which he was sure probably hurt like hell.

"You just keep an eye on Sherlock, yeah? I know how he used to…" she paused, glancing at Mike, almost having said something she shouldn't. Mike raised his brow, but she ignored that. "How he is. How he likes to say he's fine when he's not. Just…just keep him busy."

"He's fairly busy at the moment so that's not going to be a problem," John replied.

"I need you…" Rose hesitated. She trusted Sherlock, believed in him, believed that he could do anything, but she knew that sometimes belief wasn't enough, life wasn't a fairytale and sometimes there was no happy ending. She took a breath. "I need you to promise me something."

John could hear the concern in her voice and he also knew Sherlock was listening. He glanced at his friend and then walked off a ways.

"What is it?" he asked when he was sure Sherlock couldn't overhear them.

"If something happens-"

"Don't say that."

He heard her sigh.

"John, I think we both know that sometimes things don't work out the way we want them to, yeah?"

Now it was his turn to sigh. A thought struck him at that instant and for a moment hope welled within him.

"Rose how do you…" he wasn't sure how to ask or if she would tell him, but it was an idea, a way to save her and, he glanced at Sherlock, he was glad his friend couldn't overhear because he wasn't sure if Sherlock had thought about it or if it would even work. "Remember when we were in that building, the one with the serial killer?"

"Serial killer?" she asked, as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

He cursed, remembering that each time they saw her she was younger. Of course she wouldn't remember. _Damn! _

"Sherlock said you could travel in time," he replied, forging on. "I didn't want to believe, I'm still not sure I do, but is that…I mean, is it true?"

She paused for a moment. Sherlock knew about the Vortex Manipulator. She grinned. Of course he did, he was brilliant, probably worked it out almost straight away. She knew where John was going with this. Hell, she'd thought about it herself, but the screen had gone dark, which meant it was damaged.

She could fix it, most likely a lose wire, at least, she hoped that's all it was, but not without the proper tools.

"It's not working," she replied.

The hope inside of John died with those words.

"Shit!"

* * *

Sherlock glanced at his friend who had walked off far enough that the detective couldn't overhear them. He knew what that meant, but he pushed those thoughts aside. He knew everything he needed to know to save her, both of them, all he had to do was run the calculations.

The fear was still there, fear that he would somehow get this wrong, that he would overlook some finite detail, which would be enough to lose her. He took a breath. _I trust you with my life, with everything, always and forever. _

He closed his eyes, picturing the museum, complete and whole, what it looked like before the explosion. He pictured the exhibits, paintings, statues, everything exactly where it had been, something else he'd looked up because each one figured into the calculations.

He entered the museum and he became the man, the man with the bomb strapped to his chest. C4. He entered the room, far East corner of the museum. He was in the room, dead-man's switch in his right hand. Rose and Mycroft were there. She was trying to stay, trying to talk him down because that's what she would do. Mycroft grabbed her and then they were running, out of the room, toward the main doors and he pushed the button.

The building erupted with the force. Paintings, exhibits, statues, walls, nothing was safe, everything was torn apart. Everything became debris. He watched Rose and Mycroft as they were thrown by the force of the explosion, saw where they landed, watched the debris fly toward them, watched the ceiling shake and begin to collapse. The crossbeams falling, the debris flying towards them and that's how they were saved, how they were trapped. Too far to the left or right and they would've been crushed.

* * *

"About that promise John," she said, turning back to their previous conversation. "I need to know that if something happens you'll stay with him, yeah? You and Mary. He'll need both of you."

He knew it wouldn't be enough. That if Sherlock lost both of them, Mycroft and Rose, that even their friendship wouldn't be enough to save the detective, but he didn't voice that.

"Of course," he replied.

"Phone," Sherlock demanded and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

John handed Sherlock's phone over, wondering how long his friend had been there and how much Sherlock overheard. His friend took the phone and pressed it to his ear.

"I know where you are," he said and he could swear he heard her smile.

"See, I told you you could do it," she replied.

There were so many things he wanted to say to her, but there wasn't time. Eight minutes sixteen seconds.

"I can hear your device in the background."

"I'm using it as a torch." She laughed. "One of the most powerful devices in the universe downgraded to torch in the dark."

He couldn't help smiling at that, even with his fear and anxiety, but she had a way of doing that. He took a steadying breath because he knew what he had to say, what he had to do. He'd run the calculations and they had to be perfect, there was no room for error.

"Rose-" he began.

"You need me to get off the phone, yeah? And stop using the sonic. We can't have that margin of error, can we?"

Another soft smile crept over his lips. She knew. Of course she knew. She was clever, had always been clever.

"Rose, I…" he wanted to say it, but the words wouldn't come.

"Me too," she replied, as if she knew what he was going to say and she probably did and then she hung up.

He stood there for a moment.

"Sherlock," John said and his mind snapped back into place.

"Come on," he instructed, pocketing his phone and heading over to the workers.

He had two people to save and there wasn't much time left.

* * *

Mycroft had been watching and listening through the entire conversation, well, both conversations since she had been chatting with John as well. _Sherlock's wife, _but there was no evidence and the only people who seemed to know her were his brother and John.

When he ran her image it came back with a few matches, other images from cameras here and there, but no history, no name, no background. She had the ring. He noticed it before the blast, but it wasn't _the _ring. A copy, even if it was an excellent copy.

He thought it was a ruse, but now, after her conversation… He couldn't deny the fact that she was in love with his brother, but was Sherlock in love with her? He'd known his brother to become infatuated, but _love_? Well, Sherlock had always been prone to emotions.

"You need me to get off the phone, yeah? And stop using the sonic. We can't have that margin of error, can we?" she asked.

Mycroft's eyes snapped to her. Stop using the sonic? That would leave them immersed in complete darkness. His chest constricted, but he forced the feeling aside. They had light at the moment. Surely that device wouldn't allow that much margin of error. His rational mind told him that any margin of error could throw off the calculations enough to kill them, but the panic, horrid, irrational thing that it was wouldn't listen.

As soon as she hung up she gave Mike a glance. He was staring at the sonic. She knew he heard her and she also knew how he felt about small dark spaces and why they made him panic. It was a secret he carried, one that Sherlock didn't even know because she promised Mike she wouldn't tell anyone and she always kept her promises.

She'd gotten him through this once and she knew she could do it again, but he didn't know that she knew about his secret. She couldn't let on, otherwise things would turn out differently in the future and she couldn't chance changing that.

Mycroft watched her release the button. The noise ceased as the darkness enveloped him, pressing against him with a weight that drew the air from his lungs. The panic was there, claiming him, taking over all logic and reason. Then he felt something…foreign.

He glanced down, panic having nearly consumed him. His hand. There was something touching his hand.

"Sorry," she said, her voice next to him. "It's…um…I'm not really good in the dark."

"Fear of the dark is an irrational, childish fear," he relied, his voice sounding strange and he knew that was the emotion, the panic and he mutely cursed himself for allowing it to gain control of him.

She could hear the fear in his voice, though he'd never admit it. She laced her fingers through his because she knew the contact would help, make him realize he wasn't alone.

"Yeah, well, we can't all have the same control."

"I suppose."

She didn't ask if he minded because given the choice he would choose whatever made him seem stronger. He never liked showing weakness, ever the older brother.

"It could be worse," she said.

He glanced at her, though he couldn't actually see her.

"We're trapped in the dark," at those words the panic threatened to return and it made him realize that, for a moment, it had actually departed. "My brother's in charge of the rescue mission and we're running out of air. How could it possibly be worse?"

"We could be stuck down here with Mrs. Hudson."

"Sorry?" he asked, completely taken back by her comment.

Was she actually having a lark? They could very well die and she was joking?

"She'd probably offer to make us tea," Rose continued, as she'd done last time they were trapped together when he actually told her about his fear. "She reminds me of my mum that way. Near death experience? Have some tea. Your friend's lying in the bed in the next room dying? Here's a cuppa. Trapped under a collapsed building and running out of air? Tea'll make it all better dear, have a cup."

He felt himself chuckle and then paused, glancing at her, though he still couldn't see her. He usually found chatty individuals annoying, but she was alleviating the situation, turning his mind away from the panic. How was she able to do that?

"Yes, well, that's very British of her," he replied after a moment.

She laughed.

"She'd like that."

She was revealing information about herself. Information he needed in order to discover who she was and if she was indeed his brother's wife he needed to learn everything.

"Where is your mother?" he inquired.

"She's gone," she said, using the word that was the best way to describe the truth.

She had, in fact, been the one to leave, but her parents and her brother were back on Pete's World. She knew when she left she'd never be able to see them again, but everyone leaves home eventually and she couldn't stay there any longer. Not after everything that happened.

"Gone," he replied. "But not dead."

She grinned.

"Pair of geniuses. You and you're brother." She paused, trying to work out how she could tell him and what she could tell him. "I left because I couldn't stay there anymore because…because something happened and I had to leave and where they are its…not somewhere I can return to. I know it's not much of an explanation, but it's the most I can say. 'S complicated."

Mycroft processed her words. Her parents were in a place she had to leave and now she couldn't return. It left a host of possible scenarios open and he didn't like not knowing, but he could pursue that later. If he learned enough information about her he could get the files. Find out what happened. Yes, that seemed a more promising option.

A bit of dust rained down from above and Rose felt Mike's hand tighten in hers. She put her free hand on his arm and rested her head on his shoulder, something that she knew would draw his attention.

"That would be your brother digging us out," she said.

Mycroft could hear the admiration in her voice. She really was in love with Sherlock.

"You have quite a lot faith in my little brother," he replied.

"He's been there for me from the beginning."

"Beginning? Beginning of what?"

"He's never let me down and there aren't many people I can say that about."

His brows narrowed. She was purposely being evasive. More dust rained down and his chest constricted once more. Then a bit of debris broke loose. He heard it fall and a moment later she cried out.

He grabbed her arm with his free hand as her hand tightened in his.

"Are you all right?" he asked, hearing the concern in his own voice and finding it quite strange.

"Yeah…I…it hit my sore ankle 's all," she replied.

"It could have caused further damage."

The rubble above them shifted and he found himself pulling her closer, protectively while, at the same time, his rational mind tried to make sense of exactly why he would do that. It settled on the lack of air. Small bits of debris and dust rained down and then he could feel a breeze as outside sounds assailed him.

* * *

Sherlock shone the torch into the uncovered hole. He spotted his brother first, hunched over to the left, one arm wrapped around... He nearly shouted at Mycroft to get his damn hands of her, but he knew that for some strange reason his brother had been protecting her. Though, that idea didn't sit very well with him either.

Mike sat up, pulling her into a sitting position with him. He released his hand and she blinked up into the late afternoon light and the torch that was being shone down into the area she and Mike had been trapped in. Her eyes fell on the one man who'd always been there.

"Most brilliant man in the universe," she said with a grin.

He smiled in return.

"Can you stand up? It's only a meter down. If you can I can pull you out," he asked, pocketing the torch as he lay down, preparing to reach inside and pull her out.

"I think so, yeah," she replied.

"Her ankle may be broken, Sherlock," Mycroft said.

"Then help her," he instructed.

"Put your hand on my shoulder, keep weight off your ankle as much as possible," Mycroft said, taking her waist hand helping her stand. She hissed in pain as she stood up.

Sherlock reached down as she stood up. She raised her hands and he took one in each of his, pulling her up.

"John," he said and his friend reached down, helping so he could sit up while they extracted her.

A moment later she was out, her arms around his neck and his around her waist as they sat on their knees. She rested her head on his shoulder and he held her, his cheek against her hair and his pulse finally began to settle. She was alive and at that moment that's all that mattered.

"I hate to break up your happy reunion-" Mycroft began.

Rose pulled away from Sherlock, though he really didn't want to let her go. She glanced down in the hole.

"Oh, my god, Mike, I'm so sorry," she said.

"Quite all right, my dear. I lay the blame for my forgotten situation squarely on my little brother's shoulders."

_My dear? _Sherlock didn't at all like the endearment or the fact that his brother was using it when referring to Rose, but he pushed that aside, knowing she would never let him leave Mycroft down there, not that he would leave his brother down there forever just…for a bit.


	20. Not Everyone Can Be Saved - Aferward

John helped Rose out of the cab, but in the next moment Sherlock's arms were around her and she was swooped off the ground. She laughed, she couldn't help it and she heard John chuckling.

"I'm fine. Really," she protested, but it was lost in the grin she wore.

"You've been injured. You're hardly fine," he insisted.

"'S just a sprain," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck for leverage.

He caught her gaze as he carried her to the door, waiting while John unlocked and opened the door.

"_Severely_ sprained, according to the physician."

She rolled her eyes, though she wasn't really irritated. She heard John chuckle again, opening the door and stepping inside. Then she was inside, but before Sherlock could begin carrying her up the stairs they were stopped by a concerned Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, my, what happened, dear?" the woman asked.

"It's just-" Rose began.

"She has a severe sprain to her right ankle."

"Goodness," Mrs. Hudson gasped. "I'll bring up some tea and biscuits."

Rose couldn't help laughing as she thought back to her conversation with Mike.

"That would be lovely," she replied as Sherlock turned back and began his ascent.

John opened the door and she was gingerly place on the sofa.

"Pillows," Sherlock ordered and John ran off to fulfill the request.

"I'd rather sit up, if it's all the same."

In the next moment the coffee table was relieve of half its clutter, but as soon as she tried to shift her position he was there helping her and it made her laugh. At that moment John returned with the pillows and Sherlock took them placing them on the coffee table under her injured ankle. She caught John's gaze and grinned, her friend shook his head, sporting a smirk.

Her attention turned to the open door as she heard someone walking up the stairs.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Sherlock snapped, eyes training on the open door.

"Who?" John asked, but in the next moment Mycroft appeared, stepping into the room.

"Mike," Rose beamed and John caught the glare as Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

John resisted the urge to chuckle, but he couldn't suppress the amused smile. He knew his friend could be jealous, but he'd never seen it over a woman. He caught the look in Rose's eyes that told him she could see it too.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock snapped, eyes darting to the bag of takeout and then he knew. Why the hell hadn't he thought about that? It'd been nearly three hours since she was trapped and he had no idea how long it'd been before that since she ate. His eyes turned back to his older brother. Why the hell did Mycroft even care?

Before he could ask another interruption in the form of Mrs. Hudson appeared, carrying a tray with tea and biscuits. The woman sat the tray down and set to work on a cup of tea for Rose.

"Hello, Mycroft," Mrs. Hudson greeted.

"Mrs. Hudson," Mycroft replied.

The woman picked up the cup and handed it Rose with a smile.

"Here you are dear. That'll help."

"Thank you," Rose replied and then caught Mike's eye, grinning and the moment Mrs. Hudson left, closing the door behind she burst out laughing.

Sherlock's eyes shot from Rose to his chuckling brother. What the hell were they laughing at? They were sharing a joke and he didn't like that, didn't like the fact that they were sharing something he wasn't part of.

"I thought you might be hungry, my dear," the elder Holmes said after she stopped laughing, crossing the room toward her.

She smiled in that way that could light up a room and, as Sherlock watched, Mycroft returned her smile. He didn't like this situation at all.

"You're brilliant," she exclaimed.

Sherlock's eyes snapped to her. Brilliant? No, no, she wasn't supposed to refer to his brother as brilliant. That's what she called him. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked over to his laptop.

John watched his friend revert to sulking. He shook his head again, trying and failing at not smiling and he very nearly laughed, but turned it into a cough, but he caught Sherlock's glance and knew his friend had caught it.

"I wasn't sure where your taste lies, but I thought a spot of fish and chips wouldn't go amiss," Mycroft said, handing over the bag.

"Oh, my god," she exclaimed, taking the bag and grinning. "You're gorgeous!"

John caught the way Sherlock's hands twitched as his friend's eyes darted from Mycroft to Rose and then back to the computer screen.

"Yes. Well," the elder Holmes replied, sporting his own grin and John nearly choked as he realized, glancing from Mycroft to Rose…_No! _

At that moment everyone in the room looked at him and John realized he'd said that out loud.

"I'm sorry?" Mycroft asked.

"Oh, um…nothing," John replied.

The elder Holmes brows narrowed for a moment and then the man focused back on Rose.

"Buying you dinner was the least I could do after…what you did for me."

Sherlock's eyes snapped to his brother, boring holes into Mycroft. _What she did for him? _What the hell did that mean? What _exactly _went on between them while they were trapped…in the dark…together?

Rose sighed and the sound of it overpowered the demon of jealousy that was living inside Sherlock's chest.

"'S my fault he was there, Mike." Her eyes clouded over and Sherlock was on his feet closing the distance between them. "You nearly getting killed, us being trapped…all those people-"

"You're not responsible-" Sherlock began.

She turned her tearful gaze on him and his chest seized with concern.

"No, 's my fault-"

"The bomber made choice, Rose," he said, bending down and taking her hands.

"Danny." Sherlock's brows drew together. "His name was Danny. He'd lost someone and he…he needed someone to blame for that and, yeah, it was his choice, but I…I'm the reason he was there, in that museum. 'S my fault."

"Rose," Mycroft said and she turned her gaze to him. "I'm not going to pretend that I understand anything about you," Sherlock's brows drew together as he turned a withering gaze on Mycroft. His brother was suspicious of her and the last thing she needed was Mycroft tearing into her life, trying to weed out her secrets. "…but even if you physically brought him there you hold no blame for his actions." Sorry…what? "He chose to build that device. He chose to wear it. He chose to activate it. You tried to save him, though for the life of me I can't understand why, but you did. He was beyond even your help I'm afraid." Mycroft gazed at her for a moment and then seemed to come back to himself. "Now, I will take my leave, but I will drop by tomorrow and make sure my little brother doesn't, once again, forget that you require sustenance."

With that he turned and strode from the room.

"He's right," Sherlock was loathe to admit it, but he knew how much she cared and that, she would, likely, blame herself for all the people who died and he didn't want that for her.

"I brought him here," she said, squeezing his hands.

"With the Vortex Manipulator," he deduced. "Why?"

"Well…it…it wasn't on purpose. He grabbed my arm and then we were there."

"So, it wasn't your fault."

"I…"

"Rose," he said, catching her gaze. "It wasn't your fault. Now," he continued, to force her focus on something else. He glanced at the device on her wrist. "I'll have that."

"Sorry?" she asked.

"It was obviously damaged in the explosion and I'd rather not have you wearing a damaged and possibly unstable time travel device. We'll have a look at it after you've had some time to rest and recover."

"I…" she paused, wondering what he meant by that. "I can't stay."

"For good, yes, I realize that, but you can stay long enough to get some rest and recover your strength," he replied, making sure she understood it wasn't a question.

He was concerned for her and, truth be told, he didn't want her to leave at all, but he knew she had to…eventually, but not yet. He nearly lost her today and the emotions were still there. The fear, the panic and at the moment he couldn't let her out of his site. It simply wasn't an option.

"All right, yeah," she agreed with a smile, giving his hands one last squeeze before releasing him. "But only if John agrees to play a round of Cluedo with us."

Wait. What? The doctor glanced at her. Why the hell was he being drug into this?

"No, no," John protested, shaking his head. "I'm never playing Cluedo with him again."

"Please?" she asked, giving him her best pleading look, but it was Sherlock who chimed in first.

"John, you're playing and that's final," the detective replied before dashing back to his room to retrieve the game.

The doctor sighed.

"You did that on purpose," John accused.

"'Course I did," she replied with a grin.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


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